


Letters

by engineerleopoldfitz (aching_for_distance), Traviosita9124



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Anxiety, F/M, Panic Attacks, Psychological Trauma, TW: Off Screen Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 89,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aching_for_distance/pseuds/engineerleopoldfitz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traviosita9124/pseuds/Traviosita9124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a date goes terribly wrong, Jemma turns to Fitz to try and find solid ground again. </p><p>~*~</p><p>This is an old thread that somehow never made it onto AO3. For those of you who were following stories on my Threads page on Tumblr, you know this story as 'Letters (AU)'. I've dropped the AU from the title since this has become our official headcanon for this particular verse. The 'original' Letters will be edited and posted under a different title later on with a disclaimer, so people don't think it's an entirely new story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Only this first chapter is in this epistolary/text fic format. We got sick of it within about 2k words, so bear with us, or skip straight to Chapter 2!
> 
> New chapters will be posted on Saturdays.

Simmons-

I’ve no idea why, but they’ve paired us in the same lab. Seeing as how we have to at least manage until the end of the year, we should develop a schedule for when we’ll be working. That way I can avoid ever having a (literally) bloody cat liver next to my lunch again. 

Please leave a copy of your projected schedule in my inbox so I can plan accordingly. 

-Fitz 

*****

Fitz, 

It was just a liver. Perhaps you could tell me why said liver was so disturbing to you? I'm not so insensitive as to deliberately turn you off your lunch, but I do need biological samples to do my job and would appreciate you not destroying them in a pique. 

Simmons

*****

Simmons-

Because I do not want feline DNA of any stripe near my food, which it could contaminate. How am I to know what’s crawling all over your samples? And is there a reason your sample was on my side of the lab? If you just kept everything organized and with your other materials, I never would have been forced to throw your “sample” across the lab toward the bin. The fact that I missed and Agent Reyes happened to run it over with his Segway is entirely coincidental. 

-Fitz 

*****

Fitz,

Anything contaminated would have been in a sealed container as per proper lab procedure. And honestly, I hadn't intended to leave it there. But if that's what you want, I'll be more careful in the future. 

Simmons

*****

Simmons-

Is there any chance you've seen my screwdriver set? I had it last night, but it seems to have gone missing. I need it to adjust the mass spec. It's acting up again. 

-Fitz

*****

Fitz- 

Did you check the pockets of the jumper you left on the back of your chair?

\- Simmons

*****

Simmons-

Why would I check my jumper? Who keeps screwdrivers in a jumper? Do you think Rodgers might have them? It wouldn't be the first time he nicked something of mine. You remember what happened during midterms?

-Fitz

*****

((Note left on top of the screwdriver set)) 

I don’t know why you put them in the pocket of your jumper, but here they are. 

And I would rather not remember the ruckus with the drill. 

*****

Thank you. 

I’ll check my things more thoroughly next time. I suppose I owe Rodgers an apology, unless he doesn’t realize I was the one who hid the ammonium sulfide in his office. I may have to just play that one by ear.

I’ll spring for lunch today. 

\- Fitz

*****

Fitz, Leo (02:17 AM): um  
Fitz, Leo (02:17 AM): i broke one of your bots  
Fitz, Leo (02:18 AM): i’m sorry  
Fitz, Leo (02:18 AM): i’ll help you fix it if i can   
Simmons, J (02:21 AM): Why are you still in the lab?  
Simmons, J (02:21 AM): And which one was it?  
Fitz, Leo (02:27 AM): long story :(  
Fitz, Leo (02:28 AM): the roomba thing with the treads  
Fitz, Leo (02:28 AM): i forgot and stepped on it  
Simmons, J (02:40 AM): This is the third night this week you’ve been there this late.   
Simmons, J (02:40 AM): You need more sleep, or our projects are going to suffer.   
Simmons, J (02:44 AM): Seriously. Leave the bot on my station and go home.   
Fitz, Leo (02:51 AM): says the person who was still awake when i texted at 2:17am  
Fitz, Leo (02:52 AM): i’ll be fine  
Simmons, J (03:01 AM): I’m not the one breaking bots. At least come in late tomorrow.  
Fitz, Leo (03:02 AM): we have got too much to do  
Fitz, Leo (03:02 AM): and i don’t have anywhere else to go right now  
Fitz, Leo (03:03 AM): my roommate and her boyfriend have pretty much taken over my dorm  
Simmons, J (03:04 AM): Simmons, have you been sleeping in the lab?  
Simmons, J (03:04 AM): There’s a couch in our common room you can sleep on.   
Simmons, J (03:07 AM): If you want, that is.  
Fitz, Leo (03:16 AM): i don’t want to be a nuisance  
Fitz, Leo (03:16 AM): i’m fine down here  
Simmons, J (03:18 AM): If I thought you’d be a nuisance I wouldn’t have offered.  
Simmons, J (03:18 AM): I don’t want to work with a zombie, not with finals around the corner.  
Fitz, Leo (03:24 AM): i’ll still get my share of the work done  
Fitz, Leo (03:16 AM): forget i said anything

*****

((Set at her station, with a key attached.))

I spoke to Kennedy and Jenkins. They said they’re fine with you kipping on the sofa in the commons if you’re put out again. 

\- Fitz

*****

((Atop a cookie tin on the coffee table in Fitz’ dorm))

Fitz (and Kennedy and Jenkins), 

Thanks for letting me borrow the couch. Don’t eat all the cookies at once. 

\- Jemma

*****

Simmons, J (10:43 AM): Jenkins wanted me to text you and say thanks for the cookies.   
Simmons, J (10:44 AM): He also wanted me to add that they’re nearly as good as his mum’s.   
Simmons, J (10:44 AM): From Jenkins, that’s high praise.   
Fitz, Leo (10:50 AM): find out what their favorites are  
Fitz, Leo (10:50 AM): knowing my roommate i’ll have to crash there again, i’m sure  
Simmons, J (10:52 AM): Only their favorites? Which of them gave you a key again?  
Simmons, J (10:54 AM): Jenkins likes chocolate chip oatmeal.   
Simmons, J (10:54 AM): Kennedy says he’ll take whatever you’d like, provided you put “something fun” in them.  
Simmons, J (10:55 AM): I still have no idea how Kennedy hasn’t washed out yet.   
Fitz, Leo (10:58 AM): yours are gingersnaps and snickerdoodles  
Fitz, Leo (10:59 AM): and you can tell Kennedy that i’m not getting kicked out on his behalf  
Fitz, Leo (11:00 AM): the couch isn’t worth that much  
Simmons, J (11:03 AM): He’s pouting a bit, but says peanut butter then.  
Simmons, J (11:03 AM): And that was a lucky guess on your part.   
Fitz, Leo (11:05 AM): i notice you don’t deny that i’m right  
Fitz, Leo (11:06 AM): i’m going to get some of my clothes, but i should be in the lab by 11  
Simmons, J (11:15 AM): 11 in which time zone?   
Simmons, J (11:15 AM): I’m teasing, Simmons. Get here when you get here. I won’t start without you.

*****

From: Simmons, Jemma (jsimmons@scitech.shield.gov)  
To: Fitz, Leo (lfitz@scitech.shield.gov)  
Date: 02/27/2006, 06:36 EST  
Subject: Uh Oh

Read this morning’s bulletin email. Someone blew up an experiment on our floor last night - the whole building’s on lockdown and quarantine. Want to place odds on our projects surviving unscathed? 

\- Simmons

P.S. I suspect it was McKay. Roshambo you later to pick who gets to pay him back for this?

*****

From: Fitz, Leo (lfitz@scitech.shield.gov)  
To: Simmons, Jemma (jsimmons@scitech.shield.gov)  
Date: 02/27/2006, 06:52 EST  
Subject: Re: Uh Oh

Shite. Slim to none on the survival rate. That mechanism took weeks to design and build. No go on roshambo. First, you cheat. Second, we both deserve revenge. Together or not at all. Besides, I’m not getting put out on my own if S.H.I.E.L.D. catches us. 

\- Fitz

P.S. We probably shouldn’t be using our official emails for this. 

*****

From: Simmons, Jemma (jsimmons@scitech.shield.gov)  
To: Fitz, Leo (lfitz@scitech.shield.gov)  
Date: 02/27/2006, 07:02 EST  
Subject: Re: Re: Uh Oh

I don’t cheat! You’re just predictable! Other points taken. Want to meet me for breakfast, since we won’t be able to get into the lab this morning? Bacon cures all ills… 

\- Simmons

*****

From: Fitz, Leo (lfitz@scitech.shield.gov)  
To: Simmons, Jemma (jsimmons@scitech.shield.gov)  
Date: 02/27/2006, 07:10 EST  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Uh Oh

Diner where we first mapped out the project? I’ll be there in 15.

-Fitz

*****

From: Simmons, Jemma (jsimmons@scitech.shield.gov)  
To: Fitz, Leo (lfitz@scitech.shield.gov)  
Date: 02/27/2006, 07:16 EST  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Uh Oh

Done. You’ll probably get there first... Order my usual for me? :)

\- Simmons

*****

Simmons, J (07:31 AM): Booth in the way back. McKay’s here too.  
Simmons, J (07:31 AM): I ordered your oatmeal and fruit salad. Coffee or tea?  
Fitz, Leo (07:31 AM): YOU INVITED HIM?!?   
Fitz, Leo (07:32 AM): How are we supposed to plot our revenge with him sitting right there?   
Fitz, Leo (07:32 AM): Tea, please  
Simmons, J (07:33 AM): …  
Simmons, J (07:33 AM): Really, Simmons? I know you say I’m socially inept, but I know better.  
Simmons, J (07:33 AM): His lab was blown to hell, too. He’s here with Prof. Hemmings.  
Fitz, Leo (07:36 AM): There goes our fun for the morning  
Fitz, Leo (07:36 AM): We’ll have to save the plotting for later  
Simmons, J (07:37 AM): Get here anyway. We’ll get to go boxes.  
Simmons, J (07:37 AM): We can go back to mine and plot there.   
Fitz, Leo (07:38 AM): Have I called you a genius lately?  
Fitz, Leo (07:39 AM): Be there in two

*****

((Four days later, tucked into her lab journal))

What you wanted for Friday is in your bottom left drawer. It should be calibrated correctly, but check it again anyway, just in case. 

-Genius

*****

((Friday morning))

Fitz, Leo (10:59 AM): The thing worked perfectly in the test environment  
Fitz, Leo (11:00 AM): Going into production mode at noon today  
Fitz, Leo (11:00 AM): Meet me in the cafeteria for observation?   
Simmons, J (11:03 AM): Gladly. Usual table?  
Simmons, J (11:03 AM): Or will you need me observing from another perspective?  
Fitz, Leo (11:05 AM): Probably best to be in different locations  
Fitz, Leo (11:05 AM): Just make sure you’re in line of sight of the subject  
Simmons, J (12:17 PM): I know you intended him to turn blue.  
Simmons, J (12:17 PM): But is there a reason you didn't warn me about the dispersal pattern?  
Simmons, J (12:20 PM): Seriously, Simmons, I look like a Smurf.  
Simmons, J (12:20 PM): How am I supposed to work like this?  
Fitz, Leo (12:21 PM): I take it back  
Fitz, Leo (12:21 PM): you’re an idiot, not a genius  
Fitz, Leo (12:21 PM): have you got peroxide somewhere in your dorm?  
Fitz, Leo (12:22 PM): that will take it off  
Simmons, J (12:24 PM): I think Christina left some in the bathroom.   
Simmons, J (12:24 PM): I'm headed home to clean up. I'll be back in the lab by 1.  
Simmons, J (12:25 PM): And no take backs. You've already called me a genius. It sticks.


	2. Chapter 2

Jemma stared at her phone, her hands shaking badly enough that it was hard to type on the small screen. She’d already been wandering on her own for over an hour, arguing with herself over whether or not to ask Fitz for help. She was losing it though, and he was the only one she could call and have any certainty that he’d actually come to get her. 

Fitz, Leo (05:40 AM): HELP!  
Simmons, J (05:41 AM): Jemma, what's wrong???

She dropped the phone when it buzzed not even a minute later signaling his return text and had to scramble after it, sobbing in relief when she saw he’d replied so quickly. He couldn’t have been asleep, then. 

Fitz, Leo (05:45 AM): Can you come pick me up?

It took Jemma a minute to type it without errors - she didn’t want Fitz to worry any more than he had to - and hurriedly press send before she lost her nerve. 

He shot out of bed, pulling on his jeans from the night before as he tapped out a reply. 

Simmons, J (05:46 AM): Where are you?

He tugged on a t-shirt and hoodie next, slipped into his trainers and grabbed his wallet before exiting his room. He found Jenkins’ car keys on their coffee table and headed down to the parking lot to wait for her reply. 

Fitz, Leo (5:48 AM): By the diner

It was another block or two away, and Jemma didn’t really want to walk that far, but she also didn’t want to send him to some random address with her lurking about as if she was up to something. Not that she thought anyone who got a good look at her would think that was the case - she was a right mess. 

She huddled into her coat, pulling it tight around her as she swiped at her cheeks and under her eyes, trying to lessen the damage of her earlier tears as she tottered on her too-high heels toward the diner. Jemma knew her eyes were likely puffy and red, and she suspected there were marks rising elsewhere on her skin. She could only hope that the dim pre-dawn light here and inside the car would hide everything from Fitz. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. 

He sped to the diner, his path made smooth by the nearly-empty streets of Boston, and made it in record time. He pulled into an open spot, parked the car and slid out of the driver's seat looking for Simmons.

It took him minute to recognize her, what with the short dress and skyscraper heels, but it was definitely his lab partner huddled in the alley, pressed against the dirty brick facade in an attempt to keep out of the cold. He made his way to her, hands jammed into his pockets and chin tucked into the collar of his hoodie.

"Simmons, wha's wrong?"

She was taller than Fitz in these heels. It was, absurdly, the first thing she thought when he approached her, quickly followed by reluctance to talk. She could see it on his face that he was worried and Jemma didn’t want to make it worse, but knew she probably would. 

Fitz stepped closer, and Jemma flinched, side stepping and slipping past him to approach the car. “It’ll be fine,” she murmured, trying to keep her misery from her voice. “I just want to get home and try to get some sleep.” Sleep. Jemma cringed inwardly at the idea. That wasn’t going to come easy. Not now, no matter how exhausted she was. 

They had never been particularly tactile with each other, but they worked in rather close quarters in the lab and Simmons had never shied away from him like that before either. It set off a dozen little alarm bells in his head, and he forced himself to look at her more closely as he followed her to the car. 

Her head was bent low and her shoulders slumped; there was no sign of the typically perky Jemma Simmons that he knew, and while he was tempted to write it off as her merely having too much to drink, something just felt wrong. Besides, she’d never called him to pick her up after a night of drinking before anyway, and while there’s a first time for everything, Fitz couldn’t help but feel there was more to it than that. Still, he kept quiet as he unlocked the door for her and walked around to slip behind the wheel once again. 

He glanced at her as he turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life, and that’s when he spotted it. Her skirt had ridden up as she sat, exposing where her hose had been torn just beneath the hem. He could see the faint beginning of bruises underneath the tiny rips, and his gaze snapped to her face, searching for answers. 

He found them, not in her hazel eyes, but in the skin of her neck that had been exposed by her open jacket. He could make out what looked like a row of love bites, slowly turning blue against her pale flesh, and the pieces begin to click into place, a knot of anger, and maybe even jealousy, quickly forming in the pit of his stomach. 

“Who was he, Simmons?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. 

So much for her hope that he wouldn’t notice, that she could simply get back to her dorm and take a long, hot bath before crawling into bed and trying to forget that tonight ever happened. Jemma’s eyes cut over to him, distant and a little glassy as she realized what he was looking at, and defensively tugged the edges of her coat in. The collar blocked the marks away from those searching blue eyes, but then they tracked up to meet hers and Jemma couldn’t bear it. 

She curled in on herself, ducking behind a curtain of her hair, a fragile defense against what she expected was coming, especially when his tone registered. Jemma didn’t think she’d ever seen Fitz angry, and he while he might be mad at her date now, she was sure he’d turn on her when he realized how bloody stupid she’d been. Fitz didn’t tolerate fools on a good day, much less when one had called him out of bed at 5am. 

Jemma avoided the question, not wanting to get into the story. Especially not when she was trapped in a car and still this shaky. She trusted Fitz not to hurt her, but she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust him with the knowledge of what had happened. They were friends, but they were still shyly getting to know each other personally instead of just professionally, and this? This was about as personal as it could possibly get.

“C-can you just t-take me home, please?” Her voice trembled weakly at the request and Jemma was close to hating herself for it. 

The knot in his stomach tightened at her tone, putting him even more on edge, even as the look in her eye told him to back off. He was still fuming, but shifted into drive and peeled out of the parking lot to do as she asked. Still, he didn’t have to do it her way, and their trip to her dorm took even less time than the one to the diner. It wasn’t surprising, given his disregard for speed limits and stop signs as he drove, his reckless behavior fueled by the roiling anger in his gut. 

Anger that someone had done this to her. Anger that she wouldn’t tell him and let him fix it. Anger at feeling so damn impotent, and maybe just a bit of jealousy, too. He pushed all of those to the side, though, as he tore into her building’s small lot and threw the car into park in the first available space. He ripped the key from the ignition, jumped out of the car at the same time Simmons did, and followed her through the lot and into her building. 

She gave him a questioning look as she buzzed herself into the lobby, and he met her startled amber eyes with a frigid blue gaze. 

“Ye asked me t’ take ye home, Simmons. I did tha’. Bu’ ye’re daft’ if ye think I’d leave ye alone righ’ now.” 

She didn’t have the energy to argue with him right now. Not when she’d had the night she had and was running on adrenaline and nerves, without a wink of sleep. Jemma’s lips pressed together and she nodded slowly, not protesting when he followed her into the elevator and up into her dorm. 

Thankfully her roommate was out, practically living with her own boyfriend elsewhere in the city. Jemma’s dorm was dark and silent when she came in, Fitz on her heels, and she only flipped on the one light in the entry, not sure she could bear bright light exposing how much of a mess she was. Her entire body felt like it was shaking, especially the butterfly trembling in her gut that hadn’t stopped since she’d fought her way loose of her drunken date’s unwanted advances and escaped his apartment. 

Jemma kicked off the icepick heels she’d bought especially for the date, and stripped her coat off. She’d never be able to wear them again. Padding barefoot into her living room, she stilled in the center of the room, suddenly feeling helpless and not knowing what to do. Certainly she wasn’t aware of how much of a mess she looked, bruises rising on her neck and shoulder, around her wrists. There were others lurking under the blue dress from where he’d manhandled her into his bed despite Jemma’s protests. The collar was even torn in one place where he’d been too impatient to properly undress her. 

Her arms folded defensively over her chest, hugging herself tight. Jemma could feel the tightness in her chest and the pounding pulse that signaled a panic attack. Because of course, it would happen now, when she was in a safe space and in front of Fitz. She didn’t want him to see this. Didn’t want him to know. She was a mess right now and having a scene with him would make her feel that much worse. 

He watched her warily as she froze in the middle of her common room, arms wrapped around herself. His eyes took in the bruises on the exposed skin of her back and neck, saw the little flashes of purplish-blue at her wrists, and he had to grit his teeth. Whoever he was, he’d absolutely manhandled her, had left her more than a bit battered and broken. A fresh wave of anger rolled through him, although he pushed it to the side. Simmons couldn’t even look at him, and while he wanted to rage, it wouldn’t be at her. He swore he’d save it for the bastard who touched her, even though he knew he’d have to fight her for that information. 

He sucked in a deep breath before he addressed Simmons, trying to keep his voice calm but struggling mightily. 

“Who, Simmons?” She was silent, not turning to look at him or even acknowledge what he had said. There was a brief moment of concern that maybe he was entirely off base, maybe she liked being treated like this, and it was Fitz who was interfering where he wasn’t wanted... then he reminded himself that if she had liked it, he wouldn’t have received an S.O.S. text before dawn that morning. It strengthened his resolve to keep going. 

“I mean i’, Simmons, who did this t’ ye?” He allowed his tone to speak for itself, the death threat against whoever had done this fully implied by the pitch and timbre of his voice. 

She flinched again, her body rocking as if he’d hit her. “It doesn’t matter. I’m never going to-” Jemma broke off at the twist of Fitz’ expression at her words. Between that, his tone and the icy cast to his eyes, he was scaring her more than a little. 

“I was stupid enough to agree to go to his apartment. I should have known…” She tried to explain, only to have a full-body shudder rip through her at the memory of her date leading her up the stairs to his apartment, both of them more than a little drunk. Of being flung onto his bed and pinned, hands and mouth wandering places she didn’t want. He’d barely kissed her on their date and was suddenly demanding sex. Drunk, violent and almost angry sex, and had not been happy when Jemma protested. 

Jemma pursed her lips to keep from saying anything else, only to flinch at that. She was still discovering small hurts and apparently she’d cut the inside of her lip on her teeth during one of the harsh kisses. Her gorge suddenly rose, a wash of unnatural heat and nausea; Jemma bolted for the bathroom and slammed the door shut, flipping the lock before vomiting harshly into the toilet. 

She hadn’t turned the light on and the almost complete darkness was soothing, but the tears came once the nausea passed. Racking sobs came bursting out, making her ribs and stomach hurt on top of everything else as she laid herself across the cool tile of the floor. Jemma heard something from the other room, Fitz’ voice maybe, but it was fuzzed out, like everything else around her. Dimly, Jemma knew she was in shock, but damned if she could bring herself to do anything about it. 

All she wanted was to lay here and let the world swallow her whole. 

It nearly killed him to hear that she thought it didn’t matter that someone did this to her, and he reflexively frowned at her words, his expression softening only the smallest bit as he watched her shudder under the weight of the memory of the night before. 

He followed without thinking when she bolted, only to be shut out by the white particle board door to her bathroom and the soft snick as the lock slid into place, and so he stood there, helpless as fear and worry and anger raged within him, listening as she retched. It tore at him in an entirely unexpected way, and Fitz slammed his palm against the door before he'd realized it, calling out to her as he did so.

"Simmons! Simmons, are ye all righ'?" Each second that passed without a response caused cold pinpricks of fear to erupt across his back as he imagined all of the things a biochemist as clever as Jemma Simmons could get up to locked in a bathroom on her own. 

He turned and pushed his way into her room to rifle through her drawers. He found two paperclips, and bending them to the proper shape, began to jimmy the lock on her bathroom door. Thankfully, the lock was cheap and popped easily, letting him into the cramped bathroom where he nearly tripped over her prone form. 

“Chris’, lass” he muttered as he took in the sight of her sprawled across the floor, sobbing. Fitz forced his anger to the backburner as concern for Simmons took over. He reached for a hand towel, wet it a bit, and bent down to kneel next to her. “Jemma, turn over,” he cajoled as he pressed lightly on her shoulder, urging her to face him so he could press the cool towel to her forehead. She was shaking all over, her gaze distant and her eyes glassy. She likely didn’t even know fully where she was. 

He was hesitant to do it, and worried he would only scare her all over again, but he made the decision to slide his arms beneath her and hoist her off the cold tile. Thankfully Simmons was slight and he was able to maneuver her out of the bathroom and onto her bed without much trouble. He tugged the quilt that lay across the foot of the bed up and tucked it around her still-shaking frame. He gave her one last, lingering look before going back into the commons area. 

He found her clutch on the coffee table, and he fished her phone out and settled into the couch. Luckily for him, Simmons didn’t bother with locking her phone, and he was easily able to get in and access the files he needed. Pulling his own phone from his pocket, he began working, typing the appropriate lines of code into each. In a few minutes, he’d know who had worked her over, whether she wanted him to know or not. 

Jemma had been sure that she’d locked the door, but when Fitz appeared next to her, she was oddly grateful. As much as she was upset and hurt and not really in control of herself at the moment, especially now that she was home and felt safe to break down, she was torn between wanting to be alone and wanting someone close. 

Well. Not just someone. She wanted Fitz. The one person she knew she could trust implicitly. 

She’d only accepted James’ invitation because she’d lost hope that Fitz would ever see her as anything other than his lab partner and friend. The older engineering student had stopped her in the hallway one morning after class and asked if she and Fitz were an item, and when she’d said no, he’d grinned and asked her out on the spot. Jemma had been surprised and flattered that the good-looking 23 year old had taken an interest in her, and there was a piece of her that was so happy to be noticed that she didn’t think before saying yes. 

He’d asked her to go to dinner and then to a club near his apartment for dancing and a drink or two, and Jemma never stopped to think about the convenience of it being near his apartment. She’d gotten a little suspicious when he kept encouraging her to drink more, but Jemma was never one for getting smashed and had only been pleasantly tipsy when James had suggested they go. 

When they left the club it had been obvious that he couldn’t drive anywhere, so Jemma agreed to come up to his apartment, trusting - so trusting, too trusting - his offer to sleep on the couch and let her have the bed. Except before they’d ever gotten there, while they were still sat on the couch, Jemma tucked under his arm, James had twisted them both around and pinned her to the couch. He’d bruised her wrists by squeezing them together in one hand while he’d smashed his mouth against hers, then left the purpling marks now marring her neck and shoulder. 

Jemma had fought then, kicking and biting and doing anything she could except lie there passively while he attacked her. Once she’d gotten her hands free, she’d suddenly understood the cliché about women with nails, because she had no hesitation in raking hers over his face, which is what finally made him draw back from her and give her enough space to get away, snatching her things by the door and running. She’d gone barefoot for a few blocks, only wanting to get away and knowing that she couldn’t move quickly in the heels. 

Eventually Jemma had put them back on to protect the soles of her feet, despite the aching muscles and blistered skin, wandering for a couple of hours before she’d finally found the courage to text Fitz.

As the night rewound and replayed in her head, Jemma had a moment of utter shock when Fitz lifted her into his arms and carried her to her room. By the time she thought she’d managed to convince her unresponsive body to cuddle in against him, to let herself absorb the warmth radiating from him into her frozen body, Fitz had already set her down and bundled her into her quilt. She caught the searching look he cast her in the dim light shining in from the commons, but he was gone before she could say anything. 

She thought maybe he’d gone to get something and would come back, but instead her dorm fell into a terrifying silence. He’d been so angry...

Had Fitz left her here alone? He’d said she was daft if she thought he’d leave, and she’d trusted that. Jemma couldn’t bring herself to look, her already fragile and bruised heart taking that blow on top of everything else that had happened tonight. They’d never been especially touchy with each other, but she’d thought he’d at least stay with her, even if he didn’t hug her or hold her the way she desperately wanted him to. 

The tears started again, this time a slow, pained trickle of resignation instead of the sobbing release from shock. He’d never want her. Especially not after this. 

Jemma curled into a tighter ball under the quilt, shifting until the wall that lined the one side of her bed was up against her back, one of her pillows clutched tight against her chest. The shaking started again, and she desperately tried to hold herself together. 

James Harris. 

Fitz felt numb as he stared at the name attached to the address he’d figured was her last location. He knew Harris, took the majority of his classes with him, and had generally believed him to be a decent bloke, but now that he saw his handiwork… He craned his neck to glance at Simmons’ open door as guilt began nibbling at the edges of his anger. 

He had been waiting for the end of the semester to ask her out; Fitz had figured that with the rest of campus gone home and the two of them stuck there over winter hols it would be the perfect opportunity to see if she was as interested in him as he was in her. But James had apparently gotten there first. Fitz forced the air from his lungs in a drawn-out hiss, bracing himself before he went back to check on her. He was ready to kill the older man, but knew he had to keep a tighter grip on it around Simmons. He’d hate himself if he only made the entire thing worse by blowing up at her. 

He toed off his trainers before pushing off the sofa and padding into her room. She had shifted, her back pressed to the wall as she clutched at a pillow, and Fitz found himself pulled to her side. He sat down, hovering at the edge of the mattress as he pressed his back to the headboard, his eyes glued to her. Slowly, so as not to startle her, he reached out a hand and pressed it into the pillow she was using to guard herself. He hoped she’d take it as a sign that he was willing to hold her if she needed it, and left it there as he spoke. 

“Si- Jemma, please, lass, talk t’ me. Tell me wha’ happened. An’ if ye willnae tell me tha’ much, a’ leas’ tell me wha’ ye need me t’ do.” He wanted to go after James, wanted to make him hurt the way she was clearly hurting, but he wanted the whole story, too. It would do him no good to go after a fellow cadet half-cocked, no matter how the other man deserved it. 

But it could all wait, would all wait, until she no longer needed him. 

He was still here. Jemma ducked her head, hiding behind the pillow because she couldn’t meet his eyes. She could feel the pressure of Fitz’ hand when he reached out, though. Fumbling a hand loose to clutch at his, Jemma unconsciously revealed more physical damage; a few of her usually neatly manicured nails had been jaggedly torn away. 

Jemma could still hear the anger vibrating through Fitz’ voice, but his words and tone were mostly concerned for her. There was no point to not telling him. Fitz would find out regardless, and if he was going to walk away or be angry with her for her stupidity, better to do it now. Getting herself half-healed only to have Fitz break her heart all over again would be infinitely worse. Jemma’s heart ached just thinking about it. 

She tentatively peeked over the top edge of the pillow, her eyes wet, red and puffy. “I went on a date with James Harris. Everything seemed to be going well, but… then he tried to force himself on me,” she whispered. After saying that much, she knew he’d never let her get away with not telling the rest. Jemma cried through it, her dark eyes tracking down to her ragged nails when she reached that point in the story, bruised and blistered feet curling up further under the blanket. “...I just kept walking until I got up the nerve to text you.”

Jemma’s breath shuddered in and out of her chest, rasping painfully as she forced out all the words. When she was done, her eyes darted up to his, trying to read his expression, but he was carefully blanking whatever it was he was feeling, the blue eyes she loved dark and dangerously still. She wanted to fling herself at Fitz and know he’d catch her, that he’d hold her close and keep her safe. Any other time, she’d have been more certain; Fitz was awkward about being touched - she was sometimes too - but he wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t be so heartless as to turn her away. He couldn’t. She had to believe that. 

Clinging to that last thought even as she braced to be rejected, Jemma set the pillow aside to close the space between them and curl against him. Her face pressed into Fitz’ side where he sat against her headboard, an arm across his lap, legs tangling with his. She felt weak, exhausted and dehydrated from all the crying, her muscles still trembling in reaction. 

Jemma drew in a long, shaky breath. Please don’t push me away. Please. It was meant to only be a thought, and she wasn’t entirely aware that it came out as a barely audible whisper. 

She kicked off the blanket when she moved to burrow into his side, inadvertently exposing the marks Harris had left across her shoulders and neck. The sight made Fitz go cold from head to toe; it must have taken her a good while to get away from him, and it occurred to him that if Harris hadn’t been inebriated she might not have escaped at all. He reflexively wrapped his arms around her, one around her shoulders where she reclined against his chest and the other across her waist, and pulled her closer at the thought. He dropped his face to her caramel tresses, inhaling the smell of hairspray and stale liquor as he murmured reassurances to her, his fingers drawing gentle, random patterns on her back and side.

"Never, Jemma. I promise, I coul' never push ye away." He swallowed around a lump in his throat as her tears soaked into his hoodie and her sobs reverberated through his own chest. "I'm here, lass, for as long as ye need me."

Fitz wasn’t sure how long he held her, but he had enough time to study the bruises, to memorize their size and location on her thin frame and to piece together the entire horrific event in vivid detail in his mind. He reached around her to pull the quilt around her once more, as much to keep her warm as to hide the marks from sight. He swore to make him pay for each and every mark, and the beginnings of a plan to deal with Harris were forming in his mind, but he wanted to see what she had in mind first. 

"Jemma," he began, keeping his voice as soft and even as he could manage with the turmoil he felt moving through him, "d' ye need me t' take ye t' health services?" If she wanted to file a report against him, she'd likely need to start there. 

His arms closing around her brought a fresh wave of tears, even as her sobs quieted. Jemma could only wish that he was holding her for any other reason than because she’d practically begged him to - his words revealing that she’d spoken aloud, rather than only in her head. Still, she needed him too much to give up that comfort. The sensation of his cheek against her hair, his fingers idly skimming against her dress… Jemma took them in and stored them against the memory of Harris’ fingers grabbing at her with bruising force. 

She let him lull her into a dazed, fuzzy place where she didn’t have to think of anything in particular, half-aware of her surroundings, only to startle almost violently when he settled the quilt around her again. The feeling of something large unexpectedly sliding up over her back, enclosing her, nearly sent her skittering away. Fitz’ solid weight in front of her was the only thing that stopped it, something inside reminding her that if something was wrong, Fitz wouldn’t have just sat there and let it happen. 

Instead the arm she’d wound over him tightened and Jemma hid her face in his hoodie, sucking in deep breaths until the panic faded. She’d just barely gotten it in hand when he spoke again, and his words sent her heart flipping in her chest to lodge in her throat. “No. Oh, god. No. I can’t. Fitz. No,” she babbled out. Just the thought of another stranger having to touch her… 

Jemma’s heart raced, her body suddenly trembling again, and it felt like she couldn’t breathe. She drew back from him, pressing back against the wall where she’d been before, and her expression had panic written all over it, the terror she’d felt most of the night finally showing. She could hardly choke out the next words. “Fitz, where’s my bag? Did I bring it in from the car?” It might have sounded like a complete change of subject, but she desperately needed another dose of the anxiety medication that was in it.

The way she pulled away from him to huddle against the wall, clearly terrified, startled him to say the least. 

“I’s in th’ commons,” he explained, slipping off the bed, “I’ll grab i’.” He ducked around the door frame, and leaned over the arm of the sofa to scoop up her phone, shoving it back into her bag before returning to her. He stood at the edge of the bed and, with an extended arm, handed it to Jemma, unsure if he should sit next to her again. It wasn’t a matter of wanting to, he hadn’t minded her cuddling up to him in the least, but he also didn’t want to cause her any more stress than what she was clearly already feeling. 

Still, he wanted to be near her, and given the willing way she had clung to him, Fitz didn’t think it was him she minded, but the idea of anyone knowing about what had happened. Given that, he moved to sit where he’d been, giving her the option to move back into him when she was done, and waiting for her to make the next move.

Jemma grabbed the bag, sitting up to dump the contents over her bed and snatching up the orange-brown pill bottle as soon as she spied it. Her shaking hands fumbled to open the lid, shaking out two small white pills and popping them into her mouth, not even caring that she didn’t have water to swallow them. Replacing the lid, Jemma slumped back against the wall, her eyes shut tight to wait until her body registered that relief was coming. 

A few minutes later - it felt like an hour - Jemma let out a shuddering breath and opened her eyes, fixing them upward onto the blank expanse of her ceiling before finally returning her attention to the real world. She flushed and ducked away when she realized Fitz was watching her from where he sat a few feet away. Embarrassed, she made a vague gesture toward the bottle. “Anxiety medication. I, um, get panic attacks sometimes.” She gathered up the contents of her bag, shoving them back in and setting the clutch aside before she spoke again. “The health center… having some stranger touch me right now… I can’t, Fitz. I just… can’t.” 

Jemma gathered the quilt in closer around her, not knowing how to close the distance she’d just put between them with her panic, and sighed, her expression miserable. 

He considered her for another moment, processing what she’d told him about her anxiety medication and taking in her reaction to his suggestion. He was torn on her refusal to go to health services; on one hand, he knew that filing a report was the only way to get a formal reprimand issued, but he was also now realizing exactly how traumatic it would be for her. He didn’t want to see her go through that, and he couldn’t deny that he did want the opportunity to get Harris back on his own terms. Meeting her eyes, he shook off the thought. There’d be time enough for that later. 

He scooted closer to her, and, holding open his arms, broke the silence. “D’ I coun’ as a stranger?” He’d never seen someone who looked more like they needed a hug than she did in that moment, but given her reaction to the idea of being touched at the health center didn’t want to just reach for her. So, he waited there, leaving it up to her. 

“Of course not,” she said immediately, shaking her head. Jemma’s heart ached at the thought. He’d been the only person she could have texted for help… certainly the only person she’d wanted anywhere near her. She slowly slid forward across the bed into his offered hug. “I trust you,” she whispered, cuddling in close with her head on Fitz’ shoulder.

Jemma was glad the tears seemed to have stopped - her head ached along with everything else now. Leaning on him, the faint scent of his cologne lingering on his collar along with a tinge of something metallic, made something tensed deep within her loosen up, as if she could suddenly breathe again. Pulling in a deep breath, she fumbled her hands loose from under the quilt and into the opening of his hoodie to wind around him. Her fingers locked together behind his back, not wanting to let go any time soon. 

He rocked her in his lap, humming softly to soothe her. He was pulling out every trick his mother had ever used to calm him when he was a child, hoping against hope it was working. He thought it was, since she had gone quiet, and he leaned more fully against the headboard, pulling her along with him. 

“Go t’ sleep, Jemma,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “Ye havenae slep’ all nigh’. I promise, I’ll be here when ye ge’ up if ye do.”

She started to protest, wanting a bath, or just to clean up a bit before she tried to sleep. Definitely to change out of the dress and the ruined hose. But as uncomfortable as those things made Jemma, the promise Fitz had just made outweighed all of them. 

Jemma took a moment to straighten the quilt out from where it had gotten twisted around her, sharing it with Fitz to block out the chill of her room. Not that he seemed to need it, but it made her feel better. She tugged him further down into her bed, “You should sleep too. You couldn’t have gotten much - you texted back too quickly to have been asleep.” 

Fitz followed her down to her mattress, somehow managing to keep her cradled against his chest as he did so. 

“Jenkins an’ I may have engaged in a frien’ly debate tha’ had t’ be resolved usin’ th’ Xbox,” he admitted, settling in next to her. He craned his neck a bit to meet her eyes, and did his best to look reassuring. “I promise, lass, I’ll try t’ sleep as soon as I message Jenkins an’ tell him where his car is. I may have t’ run down an’ give him his keys,” he squeezed her shoulders a bit in reassurance, “bu’ I willnae leave ye. Jus’ try t’ sleep for now.”

He waited for her to settle a bit more before he pulled his own phone out of his pocket and tapped out a quick message to his roommate. That done, he tossed his phone onto her bedside table and curled in next to her as his eyes drifted shut.

As soon as he was settled, Jemma hesitantly curled in at his side, slowly settling herself comfortably. Her cheek pressed in over his chest, one arm draped over him with the other tucked up under her. Her legs she tried to keep to herself, especially since she still had on the dress she’d worn on the date. 

Between the heavy quilt and the heat radiating off him, Jemma finally started to feel warm again. She kept thinking about the marks on her, how she’d manage to keep everyone from knowing something had happened to her, debating pretending to be seriously ill for at least a few days. Even with her thoughts caught up, she wasn’t oblivious to the slow patterns his fingers were sketching out against her arm.

No matter how she’d hoped for this, or hated what it had taken to make it happen, it soothed her nerves, and before long Jemma was pulled into a restless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

His eyes shut, but Fitz couldn’t sleep, not with his mind racing the way it was. He kept his fingers moving against her arm, since it helped him concentrate. 

He knew Harris was in his lab early each Monday morning; Kennedy had mentioned before in passing that he often worked alone, preferring to do the actual lab work while his partner wrote their reports. He rolled the idea around his brain, wondering if it was really sporting to sneak up on Harris in his lab, but when he cracked his lids and glanced down at Jemma, dozing lightly on his chest, his concern about fighting fair vanished. 

He was just about to close his eyes and try to sleep again, when he heard her whimper and could feel her begin to shake. 

“Jemma?” he whispered, “Jemma, i’s jus’ a dream. I’ve go’ ye.”

In her dreams, Jemma was helpless, frozen and unable to fight back against Harris’ advances. She couldn’t even scream. That carried forward to the waking world when her eyes flew open, the cry she wanted to let out choked in her throat and escaping as only a pitiful whimper. Shuddering, her breathing fast and uneven, not entirely aware of where she was, Jemma pushed away from Fitz to sit up and look around, her hazel eyes glassy and unfocused. 

It took a minute for Jemma to orient herself, only to find Fitz staring at her again, wide awake and clearly concerned. She flushed, embarrassed and moved to climb over his legs and get to her feet. “‘M sorry,” she mumbled, “You should go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

Her heart was still lodged in her throat, although the adrenaline rush from the dream was fading as she gathered things from her dresser. By the time Jemma had her pajamas and fresh underwear to change into after, she thought she could actually speak, and repeated herself. “Go back to sleep. I’m just going to take a shower. I’ll… be back.” 

He watched her go, certain that he would not be going to sleep until she came back to bed. He might have already broken the lock on her bathroom door, but the thought of her being alone in there while he slept still troubled him. 

Instead, he reached for his phone to see if Jenkins had replied to his earlier text. 

Fitz (6:38 AM): I need my car back.

Fitz frowned as he considered the message. He couldn’t leave Jemma alone, even to return the car, but he didn’t know what to tell his roommate, either. With how much time she had been spending at their place, both Kennedy and Jenkins assumed that they were an item already; having Jenkins pick up his car here would only add fuel to that, but Fitz couldn’t see a better option. 

Jenkins (7:10 AM): I’m at Simmons’ and can’t leave. We have a project we need to finish.   
Jenkins (7:10 AM): But if you come here, I’ll bring your keys down.   
Jenkins (7:11 AM): Would you mind bringing me a change of clothes, too? Project’s a killer.

Fitz winced at the last text, knowing the exact smirk his friend was likely wearing as he read it. If anyone caught sight of Jemma, they’d probably assume he put the marks all over her neck, too; the thought of them congratulating him for it made his stomach churn rather unpleasantly, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d deal with it if it happened. His phone chimed again, and he quickly checked his messages. 

Fitz (7:14 AM): Yeah, I’m sure it’s quite the project. Need me to put any protection in your bag?

He scowled at the screen as he sent back his reply. 

Jenkins (7:14 AM): Just come get your car, jackass. And bring my bag. 

He slapped his phone down on the side table and folded his hands behind his head, plotting while he waited. 

Jemma frowned at the paper clips still stuck in the lock of her door, suddenly understanding how Fitz had gotten to her earlier. She didn’t know whether to be irritated, flattered or grateful that he’d been so determined to check on her. Clearly there was no point to locking the door again. She didn’t even latch it, just closing the door over against the frame before stripping out of her ruined clothing and shoving both pieces into the small trash can in the corner. Jemma would have to find a new favorite dress, because she’d never be able to wear that one again, even if she could mend the collar and hem. 

Setting the shower to a temperature just short of boiling, Jemma flinched when she stepped under the too-hot spray. It felt too good though, something to wipe away the lingering memory of Harris’ hands and mouth in places they shouldn’t have been and the sweaty, sticky feeling leftover from her nightmare. She scrubbed her hair clean first, putting conditioner into the thick curls and leaving it to soak in while she washed the rest of her body. It wasn’t until then that Jemma really saw and registered the damage. 

She knew there were bruises and bite marks on her neck and shoulders - she could feel the peculiar pressure-pain of them, especially when the hot water hit them directly, but there were more around her wrists from where he’d first pinned her, others on her hips and thighs where he’d tried to restrain her kicking legs and wedge himself between. There was a deeply purple bruise on her elbow. She must have knocked it on something while she was flailing her way loose. A few of her nails were broken, one of them over the nailbed, leaving a raw stretch of skin she’d need to bandage later. Her feet were a mess of scratches, blisters and reddened skin that ached terribly.

The thick nausea returned as Jemma stared down at herself, and suddenly even the near-scalding water wasn’t enough to hold her reaction at bay. She doubled over, her knees giving out, leaving her to huddle in the tub, the water cascading over her as she sobbed. She tried to tell herself it could have been worse. He could have actually raped her. But for someone like Jemma, who’d never had a hand raised to her in her life, the shock of physical abuse was more than enough. 

Fitz had been, surprisingly, ready to drift off, lulled by the warmth of the quilt and the steady hum of the water as it moved in the pipes, when he heard the first faint sob. His eyes snapped open, and he shot off her bed, his legs carrying him to her bathroom door without his having to command them. He paused at the door, which was slightly ajar, and knocked on the frame. 

“Jemma? Are ye all righ’, lass?”

The only response was yet more sobbing, heavier this time, and Fitz pushed open the door so he could stick his head into the room. He was struck by the nearly-oppressive humidity of the small space, his clothes sticking to his suddenly damp skin, and pauses in the middle of the tiny room. He focused his eyes on the curtain rod, not wanting to embarrass her further, or worse, have her thinking he was trying to sneak a peek at her. 

“Jemma? Jemma, d’ ye-” He cut himself off when he realized she hadn’t realized he was there. He tugged off his hoodie, suddenly feeling all too warm, and tossed it into a corner before wrapping a tentative hand around the shower curtain, ready to move it if she asked him for help. “Jemma, wha’ d’ ye need? If ye jus’ tell me, I’ll ge’ i’ for ye.”

She’d ignored his first call, but the second was much closer and Jemma suddenly realized that Fitz had invaded her little bubble of privacy. Turning her head, she could see his silhouette through the shower curtain. Too close. Far too close. 

For the first time since they’d become lab partners and tentatively started a friendship, Jemma couldn’t stand the thought of being near him. She was too vulnerable, especially right at this moment, stripped down physically and emotionally, and she couldn’t stand the thought of him seeing her like this. Especially if he dared to open that curtain and force her back into the real world before she was ready. 

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just- just go away, Fitz,” she called out, her voice strained and thick. 

He scoffed, unimpressed by the lie. She couldn’t lie worth a damn, apparently. 

“Ye’re no’ fine, Jemma. Ye’re sobbin’ in th’ bottom o’ th’ tub.” Fitz reached out with his free hand, grabbing for the towel she’d laid over the rack next to the shower and tugged it free. He braced himself, and pulled open the curtain, ready to hand her the towel as quickly as possible, but froze at the sight of her nude form. 

Even though she’d curled in on herself, hiding the worst of the damage, he could see the bruises that Harris had left long the back of her neck, and a few that had developed along her ribs. The rage he’d felt earlier, before their nap had calmed him some, resurfaced, and he swore under his breath at the sight. 

“C’mon, Jemma, ou’ o’ th’ tub. Dry off, o’ ye’ll take ill.” 

She hadn’t thought he’d actually open the curtain. Jemma was so lost that it took her a moment too long to realize, as he reached to flip the lever on the shower handle, turning the water off, and draping the towel around her. Just like earlier with the blanket, the feeling of something sliding up her back brought her into an instant panic, and she came up swinging, flailing her way loose and away to hide behind the shower curtain. 

Instead of a panic attack though, her fear was suddenly limned with anger. She’d trusted him. She’d trusted him and he’d just broken it, invading her privacy that way. Her breath shuddering up through her tightened chest, lungs refusing to work properly, her entire body trembling, Jemma did something that rarely, if ever, happened. She lost her temper. 

It was still mostly the fear talking, along with some hurt and shame on top of the anger, but Jemma’s voice was high and shrill. “Out. Get out. Go home, I don’t care. Anywhere but here!” She could practically see the rebuttal rise in him and she reached across the small room to plant a hand on his chest, pushing him back. “Get out!” 

The force she used to push him away wasn’t great, but it did surprise him enough to cause him to stumble backward into the vanity. The jarring way he hit the edge shook loose his anger, and he barked out a caustic goodbye before he could even consider fighting her mandate. 

“Fin’ then. D’ wha’ever i’ is ye’d like, I have class in an hour.”

He shot out of the bathroom, pausing only to collect his phone and Jenkins’ keys, before sprinting down the side stairs and into the parking lot. It was just his luck that Jenkins was walking up to the main door, and he jerked his head in the direction of the older boy’s beat up Jeep as he tossed him the keys and took his overnight bag from his shoulder. He could feel his roommate’s dark eyes on him, the concern palpable, and it made him twitchy.

“Fitz, what the hell happened? I thought you were staying-”

“She doesnae wan’ me there,” Fitz spat across the roof of the car, cutting off his protest. He slid into the passenger seat as he tossed his bag into the back, and forced his eyes out the window, wanting to look anywhere but his roommate. 

“It was Harris, wasn’t it?”

Fitz practically gave himself whiplash turning to stare at him. 

“How th’ hell-”

“I saw him talking to her Wednesday. It looked… friendly. And, when you add in the rumors about what happened when he took Molly Cwan out last spring…”

Fitz felt his stare turn hard as it sank in that Harris had done this before. It certainly made it easier to do what he wanted to now, and he began spilling the details of what he’d been thinking. 

“We’re goin’ t’ need Kennedy. D’ ye min’ stoppin’ by an’ pickin’ ‘im up?”

~*~

Jemma couldn’t help but be hurt by Fitz’ departure, even though she knew it wasn’t fair. She’d told him to go, after all, even after he’d been so comforting earlier, coming to get her when she called and staying close. Exhausted and unhappy with herself and the situation, once she crawled into her bed, huddling under the covers, her body dragged her down for rest whether she liked it or not. 

Hours passed before she woke, mind fuzzed with the emotional hangover from everything plus the dregs of the anxiety meds lingering in her system. Her clutch was still on the bed, and Jemma fumbled through it for her phone, hoping that maybe Fitz would have tried to call or text and check on her. There was nothing, though, and it left her feeling even more drained. Slightly hollow, even. 

Fitz was her best friend. Her only friend, really. And even though they were still getting to know each other, he was the most important person in her life right now. Knowing she’d pushed him away, regardless of her reasons, hurt. He’d meant well. Certainly he couldn’t have known that he was only making things worse by pushing when she was so unstable. 

Her fingers hovered over the button that would bring her keyboard up to text him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. If he didn’t reply… Jemma didn’t know if she could take not knowing if it was deliberate or if it was only temporary, or whatever was happening. If he was going to push her away, she wanted to know. Having her heart broken now might well make her flounder and drown in an overload of emotion, send her anxiety out of control, but it was better than living with the uncertainty and having the blow come later. 

As much as she hated the idea and wanted to hide away here in her lonely dorm, Jemma slowly got herself cleaned up. When she found Fitz’ discarded hoodie in the bathroom, she shamelessly slid it on and zipped it up to her chin, burying her nose in the collar.

It took her a long time - too long - to get downstairs and convince herself to make the trek across campus to Fitz’ dorm, but she made it. 

Pale, trembling, and huddled in Fitz’ hoodie, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, nerves vibrating like an over tuned violin string, but she made it to the door of Fitz’ dorm and knocked hesitantly. 

He was lounging on his bed, attempting to balance an ice pack on his left eye as he watched the third season of Doctor Who for the umpteenth time, when he heard the soft tentative knock at the door. Jenkins, who had been busy shouting profanities at thirteen year olds as he played Call of Duty, paused the game and answered it. Fitz muted his laptop and attempted to listen in on the conversation, rather, the little he could from Jenkins’ side. 

“Oh, hi. Yeah, he’s here. One second,” his roommate explained, miraculously more polite than he’d been moments before. “Fitz! Jemma’s here for you!”

Fitz groaned, his head tipping back into his pillow for a moment before he responded. He did not want her to see him this way, did not want her knowing what he’d done. If she’d been mad at him before, she’d be absolutely livid now, but his Scottish temper had gotten the better of him. And Fitz didn’t regret it in the least. 

He sighed as he weighed his options; if he refused to come out, she would just come in. It would be better to head her off at the pass, meet her at the door, so he was at least on his feet for when she started yelling at him. Again. That decided, he staggered off the bed, his sore head stopping him from moving all that quickly, and went to lean against his doorframe so he could peer into the commons. 

He was surprised to see her dressed in his sweatshirt, hovering near the door, her back to the wall and looking for all the world like she was a bit lost. He grinned at that, and found his voice. 

“Hi, Simmons.” His injured lip made it difficult to form larger sentences, but at least he could manage the small greeting. 

Jemma knew she looked terrible, her hair in a messy knot on the back of her head and not a bit of makeup on top of the effects of the previous night, and yet Jenkins barely blinked at her appearance. If anything, he sounded… almost kind, rather than his usual sarcastic self. She sidled through the doorway when he stepped aside to let her in, keeping her back to the wall. 

Even though she knew the three occupants, and didn’t think Jenkins or Kennedy capable of hurting anyone, Jemma cringed at the thought of letting anyone get behind her. That’s why it had taken her so long to get here - she’d taken the long way, with the most open spaces, and kept looking over her shoulder. 

It was when Fitz appeared in his doorway that she suddenly understood Jenkins’ attitude. He knew. They all knew. Fitz’ black eye and split lip were instantly apparent, and he wasn’t typically a violent person. There was only one thing that would have prompted him to get into a fight after leaving her dorm, and she instantly felt another rush of guilt. This was her fault. On top of everything else, he’d gone off and risked suspension, if not expulsion, from the Academy for fighting another cadet. 

Jemma glanced nervously at Jenkins, who’d returned to the couch, and Kennedy, who was eyeing her from another chair, his laptop perched on his knees, before her hazel eyes tracked back over to Fitz. His attempt at a nonchalant greeting fell flat, and her eyes suddenly burned like she wanted to cry again. She gestured vaguely at the room behind him, “Can- can we t-talk?” 

Fitz nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Instead, he steps into the commons, putting himself between Jemma and his roommates while giving her space to get into his room. He stopped at the door, considering where she was leaning against the edge of his desk before stepping through himself. 

“We can talk if ye’d like, Jemma. Wha’ did ye wan’ t’ say?” He moved toward his bed, getting ready to settle back in, before it occurred to him that she might not want Kennedy and Jenkins to hear this. “D’ ye wan’ th’ door open o’ closed? I’s up t’ ye.”

“Closed. Please,” Jemma nodded quickly, thankful he’d thought of it. Once he’d latched the small barrier between his room and the rest of the dorm, Jemma found her way across the small room to the end of Fitz’ bed, settling there with her back against the wall. Almost perching. Tense, as if she was gathered to run at any second. 

He shut the door softly, taking care not to slam it and startle her; she looked close enough to breaking as it was, and her tense posture didn’t improve any when she moved to his bed. He circled around her, taking care to give her the space she had seemed to need the last time he saw her, to shut his laptop and sit on the opposite end of the bed. The silence was tense, and it takes him a good minute to work up the nerve to break it. 

“I-” he begins, eyes fixed on the wall above her head and uncertain of if he should tell her what happened. She has to know; there’s nobody else on campus who he’d likely provoke into giving him a black eye and split lip at the moment, but he was still afraid of setting her off inadvertently. He settles for the safer option, an apology for his earlier actions. “I’m sorry for openin’ th’ curtain on ye like I did. I’ was stupi’ o’ me.” He left it at that, unable to find the words to tell her what happened after he left her dorm. If he were to be honest, he was hoping she’d leave it alone, but he knows it’s unlikely, so he sighed heavily and forced himself to look her in the eye. 

The amber orbs that look back at him are so sad, so apprehensive, that Fitz nearly stops himself from speaking his piece. Somehow, he managed to forge ahead. “An’ yes, I did go an’ haul off on Harris. I suppose I shoul’ go on an’ apologize for tha’ righ’ now, too, while I’m a’ it.”

His cavalier tone stung, like he was expecting her to yell at him for it. There’s a piece of her that knew she should be upset about him picking a fight with Harris because of her, but it was outweighed by the base piece of her that felt warm and fuzzy that he’d cared enough to defend her against someone older and much larger than he was. At the same time, even that reaction was muffled by the overload of emotions she’d gone through since the wee hours of the morning. 

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Jemma said softly, nearly a whisper. Her voice broke halfway through and she had to look away from where her eyes had met his a few moments before. “You meant well, even if you went about it in the worst possible way.” She meant both in the bathroom and fighting with Harris. “I will say if you get yourself expelled, I will never forgive you.” 

It was meant to be a joke, but somehow it didn’t come out as amusingly as she’d thought it would in her head. “I’m sorry about earlier, too. I just… I’m not thinking straight. I panicked. I can’t… Oh, god,” Jemma whimpered, suddenly feeling terribly vulnerable again, “Nothing feels right.” 

Her tone, soft with an edge of worry, punches through the last of his lingering anger with her and the entire damn situation, and he shifts towards Jemma, ready to reach for her. Fitz caught himself before he actually touched her, though, unsure if she’d want his touch at the moment, and so he sits there, hovering awkwardly as he searches for the right words. 

“Jemma,” he began softly, “nothin’ shoul’ feel righ’. No’ wit’ wha’ happened t’ ye las’ nigh’.” He winced at her reaction, her face turning further away from him when he mentioned the previous evening, but he pressed on anyway. “I’ may no’ make ye feel any better, bu’ I did leave ‘im lookin’ a lo’ worse than me.” It isn’t much, but it’s the most he has to offer her at the moment, as clumsy a gift as it is.

Jemma’s lips pressed together hard, her already pale skin going white around the edges. “If I thought I could handle going to health services, I would. Have him put in jail for what he’s done. But statistically, it’d never happen. I know that.” Especially not without an actual rape occurring. Her tone was low and defeated, hating herself for not having the strength and courage to pursue formal discipline against Harris. 

She’d never felt as weak in her entire life as she did today. 

Leaning forward, she buried her face in her hands, elbows propped on her knees so her voice was muffled when she spoke again. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it through classes. Walking over here… I was terrified of someone sneaking up on me. Jumping at shadows. Leo, how am I going to get through sitting in a classroom full of people? Or worse, a lab session when people are up moving around?” 

He bit his lip, watching as she folded forward, her elbows digging into her thighs. She looked for all the world like a girl who needed a hug. 

“Jemma,” he murmured, afraid to raise his voice in case he scared her, “righ’ now, ye need t’ take care o’ yerself. We can worry abou’ class an’ lab when th’ time comes for it.” He swallowed, afraid of putting himself out there only to be rejected. “D’ ye need a hug, lass? If ye do, I’m happy t’ oblige.” 

He opened his arms to her, hovering awkwardly a few feet away, and waited. 

She lifted her head, blinking over at him when he said ‘we’, as if it was their problem to fix and not just hers, and wondered when he’d moved closer to her. He’d been up near the headboard, now he was sitting near the middle of the mattress. Jemma braced herself, waiting for the rush of panic again, but it didn’t come. 

So when he offered a hug as he had that morning, she only hesitated a moment before crawling across the bed and into his arms. Her arms were folded up in front of her, the ends of Fitz’ sleeves covering her hands as she huddled there against him, enveloped both by him and his hoodie. Her head found its way in to nestle in the crook of his neck and shoulder, and Jemma heaved out a deep sigh, feeling safe again for the first time since her nightmare had sent her running into that shower this morning. 

He fought not to wince when she settled her weight against him, not wanting to cause her to pull away from him yet again. Still, it was a struggle; while Fitz hadn’t been lying about the condition he’d left Harris in, the older cadet had gotten in his share of blows, and had would have gotten the better of him if Jenkins hadn’t pulled them off each other at the last minute. If Fitz had to guess, his ribs would be covered in blue and purple hues tomorrow morning. Still, he didn’t regret it in the least, and he bent his head just a bit to lean his forehead against her. 

“Is yer roommate stayin’ a’ home?” Fitz knew Sonja had a habit of developing rather quick attachments to the blokes she was seeing, given what Jemma had told him about her roommate. He didn’t think she’d be comfortable here, outside of her own space, but also didn’t want her staying alone. “If she’s… away, ye can always stay here. Ye’d take my bed an’ I’d kip on th’ couch. O’, if ye wanted t’ stay a’ yours, I’d be happy to sleep on th’ couch there, too.” He pulled back so she could see his eyes, wanting her to see that he meant nothing by his suggestion. “I jus’ dinnae think ye shoul’ be stayin’ alone, Jemma. No’ this weekend a’ leas’.” 

Jemma shook her head against his shoulder. “She’s living with the latest boyfriend. Somewhere in the city - he’s not SciTech. It’s been a few weeks since she’s stayed in the dorm.” She hadn’t been thinking about that - not about the idea of being alone at night for the next few days. Staying here wasn’t an option though. Not with how she’d reacted to just being in the same room with Jenkins and Kennedy when she’d arrived, even though they’d never caused her any problem in the past few months. 

She shyly met his eyes when he drew back from her, blushing a faint pink at doing so at this scant distance. It felt too intimate, and Jemma dropped her gaze after only a moment. “I think my dorm is better for now,” Jemma said softly. And even though she wished Fitz would stay with her like he had that morning, the way she’d spazzed out on him probably meant that wasn’t even an option now. 

He nodded, swallowing around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat when he noticed her blushing pink. Under other circumstances… Fitz shook off the thought. These weren’t other circumstances, and all she needed now was a friend. Fitz was determined to be that friend for her. 

“All righ’, lass. Jus’ le’ me ge’ my bag, an’ I’ll walk ye back t’ yer dorm.” He gathered his things quickly, scooping the few items he needed to care for his aches and pains into the bag Kennedy had packed for him earlier, pulled on another hoodie and hoisted the bag onto his shoulder. With that handled, he held his hand out to her, and once her fingers were tucked into his, led her out of his room and into the commons. 

“I’ll be a’ Jemma’s,” he needlessly explained to his roommates. “Call o’ tex’ if ye need me.” That handled, he tugged her out of their room, down the stairs, and outside, taking the quickest path across campus to her dorm. 

He made sure he kept his grasp on her hand the entire time. 

She couldn’t help but be a little stunned. She hadn’t ruined their friendship. His easy acceptance of her need to be at home, in her own space, was rather humbling. She was more than a little grateful that Fitz didn’t need to ask questions, but took her words at face value. Jemma also hadn’t expected him to keep hold of her hand. The warmth of his skin against hers - how was he so bloody warm? - and the rougher texture kept her mostly distracted during the walk back to her dorm. 

There were still a few moments when they were cutting between buildings on narrow walkways that had her tense and trembling. Jemma caught him glancing at her worriedly, but Fitz didn’t say anything, only squeezed her fingers a bit and hurried them along. 

Jemma had a moment at the entrance of her building and then again at her own door when Fitz was hovering behind her while she scanned her student ID to get in, her hands shaking and fumbling the simple card swipe. When she was safely inside her own rooms, the door shut and locked behind them, Jemma surprised herself by turning to him. She curled her fingers in the hoodie Fitz was wearing, intending to pull him in for a hug - until she caught the way he flinched. 

“Fitz?” Jemma bit her lip sharply, her eyes wide and hurt again.


	4. Chapter 4

He had managed to keep his breathing even during their walk, acclimating himself to the way his whole body seemed to ache without tipping Jemma off about just how badly he was hurting. But, when she grabbed at him, he hadn't been able to brace himself against the sharp stab of pain when she brushed against his bruises. 

"I's no' ye, Jemma," he reassured her when he saw her eyes go wide. "I..." he hesitated, unsure of how much he could or should say without upsetting her further. “Harris dinnae exac'ly go down withou' a figh'. Ye jus' brushed some bruises is all."

She sucked in a breath, clearly unhappy with this bit of information. "Are you sure it's just bruises? You don't have cracked ribs or anything like that?" Jemma thought she'd have noticed something that serious - he'd have more trouble moving around. It was hard to know if he was deliberately hiding something, trying not to give her any more to think about.

Jemma frowned and finally reached forward again, feeling like this was all her fault and at the very least she should do something to help fix it. Her fingers went to the tab of the zip on his hoodie, carefully tugging it down. “Let me look?” she asked tentatively, her upset now clear in her voice. “I know better than your roommates if you’ve done yourself serious damage.” 

Fitz kept his eyes level as he nodded in reluctant agreement, and let her unzip the hoodie, dropping his bag as she did so. He shrugged out of it, wincing as he hung it up on the hooks near the door. If even lifting his arms that small bit hurt, the next week would be hell, given everything he had to haul around the lab. He turned back to her with a sigh, fingers curled around the hem of his shirt as he considered her, her hazel eyes concerned and waiting. 

This was not the way he wanted to be shirtless in front of Jemma Simmons. He didn’t want her to see where he’d been hit, or answer the questions about what he’d done, or even worse, why he’d done it. But he knew she was right, and while Jenkins and Kennedy had assured him he’d be fine, Jemma would actually know how to treat him if he needed it. Medical services was out of the question; they’d want details, and there was no way in hell Fitz would ever give them those. 

She was waiting on him, and he finally brought the hem up to expose his right side, where Harris had done the most damage. He refused to look at her, instead staring down at his own injuries as he stood there mute, unsure of what to say. 

Jemma swore under her breath at the deep purple bruising and sighed. There wasn’t even any point in being upset now. Everything that had happened was already done, all she could do was deal with the consequences. “Come on, you should sit,” she said, leading him toward the table and pulling out a chair. She was going to have to poke at him a bit and she didn’t want him getting dizzy or anything in the meantime. 

“Have you taken anything?” She figured he was probably trying to be a stubborn male and hadn’t bothered. Jemma didn’t wait for his answer before she huffed and went rummaging in her bathroom, coming up with a bottle of ibuprofen and a jar of arnica gel. After grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator, she shoved it and the ibuprofen at him. “Take three of those.” 

She knelt next to the chair, peering at the bruises before tentatively prodding at the worst of them over his lower ribs. The ones further up she wasn’t as worried about. It would take a stronger blow than a punch to break them. 

Fitz obeyed, popping the top of the bottle with his teeth (earning himself a dirty look from Jemma in the process) and tapping three tablets onto the table. He adjusted his grip on his shirt before reaching for the water bottle and taking the ibuprofen. 

That done, he turned his attention back to her and what she was doing. She was intent on his injuries, and her chilly fingertips caused gooseflesh to breakout where she prodded him. She gave one particularly sharp poke that caused him to jump in his seat as he cursed. 

“Chris’, Jemma, no’ tha’ hard. One beatin’ was enoug’ t’day.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended, and he immediately regretted his poor phrasing. “I’m sorry, lass,” he apologized, swallowing around the fresh wave of aching she stirred up with her examination. “I’s jus’ been a while since I was worked over like this, an’ I dinnae care for the’ feelin’ in the leas’.”

“Sorry!” She blurted immediately when he jumped, flattening her palm over his ribs as though she could soothe the pain away by touch. His curse half-covered her apology, and Jemma ducked her head at the harsh tone. “Pretty sure they’re not broken. You’d be in agony, with the way you just jumped,” she said softly. 

She glanced up at him, something shy in her expression now as she bit at her lip again. “I think I understand not liking the feeling of being abused,” Jemma murmured, lowering her gaze again to find the tub of arnica gel. “Do you want me to do this, or would you rather do it yourself?” 

He kicked himself mentally. It just seemed as if he made one stupid, careless remark after another. Fitz looked down to where her hand was pressed against his side, and considered his options. He didn’t want to make Jemma nurse him, but he did like the attention… and he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach all of his bruises with how stiff his torso was. 

“I think ye’ll need t’, lass. I cannae reach everythin’.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself before quickly moving to grab his shirt by the collar and yanking it over his head. The movement made his vision swim as tears formed in his eyes, and he huffed out a breath as he tried to make light of it. “Tha’ probably wasnae my bes’ idea. Sorry abou’ tha’.” He gave her what he hoped was a bracing smile and nodded at the small container she now held in her hands. “I’m ready when ye are.”

Jemma caught the gloss in his eyes but tried to ignore it, even though she wanted to fuss at him for not asking for help. She also had to ignore the fact that he’d stripped off his shirt and practically invited her to lay hands on him. He was better toned than she’d expected, shoulders unexpectedly strong, but he had a hint of a pudge at his middle that was actually kind of adorable. She had to shake herself to get her thoughts off the track they were wandering. 

Instead she focused on dabbing the gel on the worst of the bruises, using it sparingly while carefully ignoring everything but the marred patches of skin she needed to care for. Arnica wasn’t cheap, and she had to have her mum send it over from England, because she couldn’t find it here. Silently she worked her way around him, making sure she hadn’t missed anything, before she looked at his face again. 

A finger under his chin tipped his face back so Jemma could get a good look at the black eye. “Close your eyes,” she murmured, using a single finger to carefully swipe a thin layer of the gel there as well, across his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose and over to his brow. “You’re lucky,” Jemma noted, considering the way the bruise was set. “Another half inch to the left and he’d have broken your nose instead of blackening your eye.” 

Her touch was soothing, and Fitz soon found himself letting his mind wander as she treated his bruises. He noticed the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, the way her brow twitched in sympathy each time he sucked in a particularly sharp breath, and the way her mouth curved down more and more with each minute that she worked on him. 

It all reaffirmed what he knew of Jemma Simmons: she was kind, and smart, and beautiful, and she certainly hadn’t deserved to have this happen to her. He wondered, briefly, with guilt and regret churning his stomach a bit, if he had managed to ask her out first how different the outcome would be. But that line of thinking, and the litany of regrets that came with it, was broken when she tipped his chin up toward her and asked him to close his eyes. He couldn’t help but smirk as she dabbed the gel around his eye, her finger brushing the bridge of his nose as she spoke. 

“Th’ man hits like a lass,” he blurted without thinking. “An’, his aim was off, too. Likely ha’ somethin’ t’ do wit’ th’ fac’ he couldn’ see ou’ o’ ‘is lef’ eye.” He opened his eyes to look at her when she finished with the salve, a humorless smile playing across his lips. “Ye go’ ‘im good, Jemma. I’s probably wha’ saved my nose.” 

“Yes. Well.” Jemma shrugged one shoulder and turned from him to grab the lid for the jar of arnica from the table. “He had me pinned, it wasn’t like I had room or leverage to try and punch him, so I used what I had.” She glanced down at her nails. She’d cleaned them up earlier, trimming and filing down the ragged edges that had been left behind, as well as getting her own share of the arnica gel and dealing with the damage to her feet. 

The bruises she could deal with - they’d be sore, aching reminders for a while, but it wouldn’t stop her from doing anything she normally would. The cuts, scrapes and blisters on her feet had been another story. She’d layered them in antibiotic ointment and bandages for the trip across campus and back, but that all needed to come off - the blisters needed air to heal properly. 

She sat in the chair next to his to pull her socks off and start unwinding the bandages, turning most of her attention back to Fitz. “Well, it’s still lucky. A black eye will heal far faster than your nose would have,” Jemma pointed out. She tipped her head to look at him, a frown lurking at the corners of her mouth. “You shouldn’t have risked getting expelled over this, Leo.” 

He had been watching her as she worked on her feet when her reproach pulled him back to reality. He scowled, his hands fiddling with the shirt in his lap and his gaze focused on the floor as he answered her. 

“Somethin’ had t’ be done, Jemma. I couldnae le’ ‘im ge’ away with attackin’ my-” He cut himself off abruptly, unsure of what he’d been about to say. What was she, exactly? Most assuredly his lab partner, and they were becoming friends, but sometimes… sometimes he thought he saw a little extra spark in her eyes when she looked at him, something inviting that made him want to be brave and reach for her. But, more often than not it was gone as soon as he thought he saw it, and Fitz just hadn’t had the courage to do anything about it. 

He forced himself to meet her gaze, unaware of the depth of emotion he was revealing when azure eyes locked with hazel. “I couldnae le’ ‘im ge’ away wit’ hurtin’ ye, Jemma. My conscience wouldnae allow i’, an’ I’d do i’ again in a heartbea’.” 

He looked away, unable to maintain her gaze any longer, and stiffly raised his arms to slip his shirt back over his head. 

Jemma stilled, wondering what he’d stopped himself from saying. His what? It was in her nature to be curious, and especially when it was something relating to her. Was he as confused about where they stood as she was? Bracing herself, she opened her mouth to ask when his eyes caught hers and held. Her breath caught at the look he gave her, the tone he used, and her heart leapt. 

She fought the reaction back though, not wanting to get her hopes up. Instead, she took his shirt from him and reached for his hoodie. “Just put the hoodie on and forget the shirt. It’ll be easier than trying to lift your arms again.” Jemma moved around behind him to help him get the hoodie on, ending with her hands on his shoulders. They were in knots and the healer in Jemma wouldn’t let that go. 

Knowing there weren’t any bruises under her hands, only tense muscle beneath soft fleece, she took the chance and dug her nimble fingers into his trapezius, her thumbs rubbing down the side of Fitz’ neck. 

He was working the zipper up when he felt her fingers kneading into his shoulders, and her thumbs stroking his neck. The sensation sent a pleasant shiver down his spine and caused his hands to freeze before him as his eyes slid shut. Jemma was incredibly good at this, her fingers searching out and obliterating the knots of tension with surprising ease. Fitz was grateful for the attention since it eased the headache that had been developing behind his eyes, but he needed her to stop, too. He couldn’t think as clearly as he’d like with her hands on him. 

“Jemma,” his voice slipped out far lower than he’d expected, “ye dinnae have t’ do tha’. Th’ knots’ll work themselves ou’. They always do.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Jemma replied, working out toward the curve of his shoulders. With her knowledge of human anatomy it was easy to tell where the trouble was, although her hands weren’t strong enough to keep this up for too long. “You didn’t have to come pick me up this morning, go confront Harris, or be here right now, either. So I don’t want to hear it. We’re nowhere close to even, so shush.” 

Her voice was firm, and Jemma was set on making all of this up to him somehow. Even if it took her months to feel like she’d paid him back appropriately for this. In the meantime, she couldn’t resist. “What were you going to say earlier? Couldn’t let him get away with attacking my-?” 

Fitz clucked his tongue at her attempt to get information out of him. In truth, if he’d been just a tad sleepier, it may have worked, but after his previous near-slip he was too guarded. 

“Ye tryin’ t’ ge’ information ou’ o’ me? Did ye transfer t’ Ops wit’ou’ sayin’ anythin’, lass?” He couldn’t help but smile as he spoke. They’d only known each other a few months, but it hadn’t taken long for him to realize how terrible a liar Jemma was. He was reminiscing about how she had attempted to tell their supervising officer that it had been escaped lab animals that had trampled through McKay’s office, destroying his lab notes, when she managed to work out a particularly tricky knot. Fitz groaned in pleased relief, and reached a hand up so he could brush his fingers against the back of her hand. 

“Although, ye keep doin’ tha’, ye can be anythin’ ye wan’ t’ me. Jus’ name it.”

Yours. For a moment, Jemma was horrified, both at the instantaneous reply and because she thought she’d said it aloud. But there was no reaction and she realized it had only been in her head. It didn’t really matter though, because despite trying not to get her hopes up, she had, a little, and his nonchalant deflection of her question made Jemma’s heart sink. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she’d misread the little things in the lab and everything today. Imagined the look in his eyes a few minutes before. 

“I was just curious,” she said, her voice going a bit flat to try and hide the disappointment. Still, she kept her fingers moving over his shoulders and up his neck, eventually sliding her fingers into his curls and scratching his scalp for a while, content to be silent. Jemma’s fingers started to cramp, and she finally had to admit her hands were too tired to continue. She let them fall to drape over his shoulders, hands half on his chest. She wasn’t sure when she’d stepped in so close to him, but if Fitz tilted his head back even an inch, he’d be pillowed against her chest. 

The massage, particularly the feeling of her fingers threaded through his hair as she scratched his scalp, had made Fitz go heavy with contentment, despite his bruised and battered condition. He could feel Jemma’s warmth radiating against his back, and he leaned into it the slightest bit, wanting to be closer to her. He stretched his fingers of his raised hand out to cup around hers gently, giving her the opportunity to pull away if she wanted it, as he leaned into the arm she had draped over his right shoulder. 

“Thank ye, Jemma, tha’ was…” Fitz struggled for a minute, looking for the right word to express himself. “I’ was wonderful.” He gave her hand a little squeeze before leaning back to enjoy the first peaceful moment either of them had likely had all day. 

She’d meant to step back. She really had. But then he leaned into her and Jemma couldn’t bring herself to move. They’d never been touchy beyond casual incidents in the lab - Fitz had pushed her hair out of her face or leaned close to look in the microscope, Jemma had pushed his sleeves up so they didn’t drag into something or bumped his shoulder to get his attention while he was rambling. That sort of thing just happened when both your hands were busy and you needed a second pair. 

This… this felt awfully lover-like though. Fitz’ fingers were wrapped around her hand, his head tipped to rest against her arm and a little back against her chest. Jemma only had a moment to enjoy it before his words registered and she frowned down at him. “Leo… don’t. If anyone owes anyone thanks here, it’s me. You…” Her voice was suddenly thick and Jemma wondered if he really had any idea what he’d done. No one had ever defended her before, not even her parents. 

Jemma leaned down, resting her cheek on Fitz’ hair, her free arm wrapping around his chest before she talked herself out of it. She couldn’t help clinging, just a bit. 

He brought his other hand up to wrap around her arm without thinking, returning her embrace as best he could from his seated position without actually breaking her hold on him. 

“Jemma, i’s nothin’,” he answered honestly, tipping his head back just a bit more so he knew she heard him. “Ye’re my frien’, my only real one.” He swallowed, took a minute to calculate the risk, and then plunged. “My Jemma. Tha’s wha’ I was goin’ t’ say earlier. Ye’re my Jemma, an’ I’d be damned if I jus’ le’ anythin’ happen t’ ye.” Reluctantly, he broke her hold on him so he could turn and face her. He wanted her to know that he was serious, that he wasn’t just feeding her some line, but as soon as he met her eyes, all the other words he’d been agonizing over died in his throat. 

He couldn’t quite read her expression, and suddenly, Fitz found it hard to breathe around the knot in his throat. 

She’d barely gotten that one moment where he was hugging her - sort of - back before he started talking. Her heart and her stomach both flipped at his admission, her knees suddenly feeling like they’d been knocked out from under her. Jemma was so close to impulsively craning around and kissing him and then he broke away, turning to look at her, and she lost the nerve. 

All she could do for a long moment was stand there, trembling, hoping that he meant what she thought he meant. Her fingers were knotted tightly over the back of his chair, white-knuckled because her knees still didn’t want to hold. His eyes were searching her face, but she wasn’t sure what answer he was looking for and it made her terribly sad and anxious at the same time. 

Jemma broke away to sit facing Fitz in the chair beside him, sinking down gratefully, her hands pressed hard between her knees. “I- I don’t know what to say,” she whispered. 

He had scared her, and he immediately began berating himself for it. He had said too much too soon; she wasn't ready to hear something like that, but the honest words had escaped his mouth before he could even think to stop himself. He leaned a bit closer to her, and pitched his voice low in an attempt to be comforting without startling her.

"Jemma, I didnae mean t' upset ye. I jus' wan' ye t' know tha' for ye, lass, I'd gladly face expulsion o' bein' court martialed"

With that, he leaned in the last few inches to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. 

“No, it’s not that, I-” Jemma began, but then he leaned in and she couldn’t help herself. She tipped her head to meet him, refusing to let herself think what a terrible idea this could be, and instead of him kissing her cheek, their lips met. It was only for a moment, and Jemma wasn’t sure who pulled back first, but she found herself staring into those deeply blue eyes from only a few inches away. “I meant to do that,” she whispered, looking away nervously. 

Jemma wasn’t certain she wanted to be watching when he really reacted.

He sat, dazed by the feeling of her lips on his, and the pleasant shocks it sent through him. Only when he blinked away the fog and saw her, biting her lip and looking generally nervous, did a small seed of panic take root in his chest. She looked ready to pull away from him, despite her statement that she had meant to kiss him, and Fitz couldn’t allow that. 

He leaned in again, bracing himself on the edge of her chair and meet her eyes. “I’m glad ye did tha’,” he whispered, lips a hairsbreadth from hers, before closing the scant distance to press against her mouth again. He kept the pressure gentle, not wanting to scare her off, but unwilling to let her run from him either. 

Despite herself, there was a moment where Jemma was thinking about the previous night, and the rough, aggressive kisses from Harris. She didn’t think Fitz was thinking about that right then, but she was intensely grateful that he hadn’t pushed or she really might have bolted and made yet another emotional minefield to navigate. 

Instead, she let out a quiet sigh against his mouth, her fingers unconsciously reaching to tangle in his hoodie and keep him close. 

Fitz’ heart started when he heard her sigh, afraid that he’d done something wrong to upset her, but when he moved back to give her space, he found he couldn’t. She had reached out and snared him, and he felt a sudden rush of warmth at the sight. She did want him close.

He smiled against her lips at the thought. “Lass, i’s no’ tha’ I dinnae like ye grabbin’ me, bu’ I’ll need my shir’ back eventually.” He kept his tone teasing; he certainly didn’t want to scare her off now that he’d managed to kiss her. 

Jemma blushed and let go of him - she hadn’t even realized she’d done so until he pointed it out. “I just…” she started to speak and then realized she didn’t know what to say, but her mouth curved into a soft smile. “I’d been sort of hoping… I just didn’t think…” 

The pink on her cheeks deepened, flushing up to her ears as she fidgeted anxiously. Jemma didn’t know what to do with her hands now that he’d pointed that out and was twining her fingers together in her lap, He drew back and she bit her lip, watching him. There was a piece of her still in disbelief… My Jemma. Hadn’t she just been thinking the same thing? 

Fitz ducked his head, smiling as he listened to her stumble through her words. In truth, he wouldn’t be much better if she asked him to speak, but he still found it, and her blush, endearing. He took a chance and reached for her hand, slipping his digits between hers and letting them get tangled up in her lap. 

“Wha’ was i’ ye’d been hopin’, Jemma?”

He held his breath as he waited for her response. He thought she was going to say she’d been hoping for something to develop between them, the same as he had, but he still didn’t dare hope for it. 

Her fingers went tight around his as soon as he slid his fingers through hers, betraying her nervousness. It took her a moment, along with several attempts to swallow down the lump in her throat, before she could look up at him. When she did, her eyes were suspiciously glossy. “That you’d notice me. I didn’t think you were interested, or I’d never have accepted that bloody invitation from Harris in the first place.” 

It hit her just then that if she’d done something - anything - to let Fitz know how she felt, she’d never had the experience she did last night. Wouldn’t be limping around her dorm, aching and miserable, jumping at the least little thing. Wouldn’t need Fitz here babysitting her because she didn’t want to be alone. And yet somehow it had gotten her here. 

Jemma’s smile wobbled a bit, not wanting to cry again today. Besides, she’d kissed him. She should be happy, not tearing up. And she wanted him close, but he was too bruised and sore for her to throw caution to the wind and just climb into his lap. She settled for swaying forward, settling her head against his shoulder. 

Fitz leaned into her, his free arm wrapping around her waist as best it could and their knees brushing, as he considered what she said. If he hadn’t been so damn shy, if he had asked her out as soon as he’d had an inkling...but he hadn’t. By being too timid, he’d given Harris the opportunity to attack her. The thought sat like a dead weight in his chest, weighing down and tinging the happiness he’d felt when he kissed her. 

Moving gingerly, since he was still a tad sore, he inched a bit closer, pressed his head gently against hers, and readjusted his grip on her hand.

“Jemma, i’s no’ on ye. If I’d been more proactive…” he rocked into her a bit, trying to reassure the both of them. “I always noticed ye, lass. I’m jus’ sorry I dinnae have th’ courage t’ say somethin’ earlier.” 

Jemma sighed into his shoulder and drew back enough that she could look at him without dislodging his arm from around her. “I could have said something, too,” she mumbled, “But I didn’t want to screw up our partnership if… It would have been weird. And complicated.” 

The emotional roller coaster of the last day was starting to catch up to her, and even the happy buzzing in her head because she’d managed to kiss him and he kissed her back wasn’t enough to keep it entirely at bay. Keeping hold of Fitz’ hand, she got to her feet. “C’mon. I think we both deserve to curl up on the couch and not think too much for a while. And maybe get more kisses?” She asked, half tentative and half hopeful. 

He rose to follow her, stepping into her space as he did so in order to plant a small kiss at the corner of her mouth. 

“I think I coul’ handle cuddlin’ an’ some kissin’,” he told her honestly before letting her tow him over to the sofa. He let her get situated and then took a seat himself, taking care to keep her on his left side. He wanted her to cuddle up to him, but his right side was in no condition to have her leaning against it. Once settled, he angled himself toward her, arm resting against the back of couch so she could lean into him if she wanted. 

Jemma tucked her knees up in front of her, taking her usual position on the couch. She tilted her head toward him though, one dark brow raised. "This isn't going to make things weird, is it? I don't want to lose you if this doesn't work."

As much as she wanted more from their relationship, the last thing Jemma wanted was to lose her friend. She could live without a boyfriend. She probably could live without him in general, but she definitely wouldn't be happy about it. The hole he would leave behind would be terrible. 

Fitz stopped to consider her question. In truth, he hadn’t been thinking much about the kissing ruining their partnership; a more pressing concern in his mind was whether or not he’d be kicked out for fighting with Harris. But, he could understand why she’d be worried. They wouldn’t be the first pair of lab partners to entertain a flirtation or romance only to have it blow up. Hell, the same thing had happened to three other pairs since their time at the Academy. He pursed his lips, his brow a bit furrowed, and answered her.

“I think it’ll only be weird if we le’ i’ be weird, Jemma.” He shrugged at her. “Whether o’ no’ this, us as anythin’ other than friends, works is up t’ us.” Fitz worked hard to appear calm as he spoke. It had only been a few rather innocent kisses, but he would still be devastated if she told him she’d rather not kiss him for fear of their partnership. He might understand it, logically speaking, but it would still sting. 

Jemma gave him a hesitant smile and shifted to tuck herself under his outstretched arm, her folded legs half resting over his thigh. Just having Fitz close by was comforting, but having him willingly touch her and keep her close was something she could get very used to. “I don’t want it to be weird,” she said softly, tipping her head back against his shoulder to look up at him. “This… you’re too important to me,” Jemma admitted. 

She carefully wrapped an arm over his stomach, letting it rest low on his belly, her hand on his far hip where she knew he wasn’t bruised. If he was going to let her be cuddly, she was going to take full advantage. 

Fitz was encouraged by her smile, no matter how small it might have been, and brought his arm down around her shoulders to pull her close. Despite her caution, she still bumped his bruises, and he winced a bit as she settled against his side. 

“Ye’re importan’ t’ me, too,” he told her, ducking his head down to lean against hers on his shoulder. He wondered, briefly, if he could take kissing her and then not at least trying to date her. The thought was torturous; there was no way he couldn’t at least try to be something more to Jemma. “I cannae speak for ye, lass, but I woul’ always wonder wha’ migh’ have been if I dinnae a’ leas’ try this.” His answer was honest, almost too honest, but he found he didn’t care. The exhaustion of the day was catching up to him, and it was more effort than it was worth at this point to hide any of what he was feeling from her. 

Jemma made a face when he pulled her close. His arm was resting at just the wrong angle to irritate one of the marks Harris had left behind. It didn’t hurt, precisely, but it wasn’t comfortable by any means. She reached up to shift his arm, trying first one spot and then another, and ended up shifting herself instead. 

She kept an eye on him as she tentatively stretched her legs across his lap, battered feet resting on his other thigh, her body angled toward him as he spoke. “I want to try, too,” she said softly, glancing up at him shyly. “I just want to agree that no matter what happens, we’ll still be friends.”

Sitting up straight, Jemma slowly - so slowly - leaned in closer to him, her eyes on his mouth. She’d meant what she said about wanting more kisses…. she just wasn’t entirely sure how to ask for them beyond simply kissing him herself. 

The idea that there could be a day where they weren’t friends made Fitz’ stomach turn. He had only known her a few months, but already, the idea of a world where he and Jemma Simmons weren’t on speaking terms was unthinkable. He muttered a quiet, “O’ course, lass,” his eyes fixed on her lips as she leaned in closer to him.


	5. Chapter 5

He met her halfway and kissed her, although this time he kissed her a bit more soundly, trying to let her know how much he wanted her to be more than his lab partner without sending her skittering away. 

Her fingers found their way into his hoodie again, not that he could actually go anywhere - not with her legs over him like they were. Jemma hadn’t had a lot of experience with kissing and with the memories of Harris’ aggressive mockery of what should have been a pleasure fresh in her mind, she was careful of pushing for anything more. 

Jemma let herself sink in, the rest of the world fuzzing out around her, the vague unease that had been dogging her all day fading away. The soft press of his lips against hers, the heat of his hand on her back, his curls under her fingers - when had her other hand found its way there? She had a wealth of sensory input at hand and she wanted to absorb it all. 

Fitz felt his fingers twitch a bit against her back, and a shiver run down his spine, at the feeling of her hand in his hair and her nails scratching lightly against his scalp. He moaned softly into her mouth, his free hand skimming up her shin and wrapping around to cup her calf, trying to urge her further into his lap without bodily putting her there. 

Feeling bold, encouraged by the way she was pressing herself close to him, he tentatively brushed his tongue over her bottom lip, testing for her reaction before he even dreamed of trying for anything more than that. 

The feeling of Fitz’ hands against her, the physical warmth of them along with the rush of affectionate warmth that swept through her, made Jemma whimper softly into his mouth. She wanted more of this, wanted to let Fitz wipe the memories of last night as much as he could, replacing them with feelings and memories Jemma actually wanted to have. 

She shivered in his arms when his tongue brushed against her lips, and Jemma stilled, pulling away from his mouth and ducking her head against his shoulder. This is Fitz, she reminded herself. He’s not going to hurt you. It was slow and hesitant, but Jemma gave into the quiet urging of Fitz’ hands and slid over into his lap, intent on letting him try to soothe her nerves away. 

He froze when he felt her shiver and pull away, mentally kicking himself for pushing her too far too quickly. He was about to apologize, tell her they didn’t have to do anything more than this, when he she shifted into his lap, to his surprise and delight. “Jemma,” he whispered, his voice a bit lower and rougher than usual, “we dinnae have t’ do anythin’ else. Jus’ basic kisses. I promise.”

He nuzzled against her forehead, urging her to look at him, hoping that she’d see the sincerity in his eyes. Once her eyes, a clear honey in the light of her commons, were on him, Fitz lowered his mouth to hers for another kiss, taking care this time to not let his tongue anywhere near her; instead, he kept the pressure soft and sweet and everything he thought she could need in that moment. 

Something in her chest went soft at the gentle way he reassured her. Jemma hadn’t been expecting him to be quite so attentive to what she needed. He was a male, after all. They weren’t exactly known for emotional maturity at this age. Fitz’ lips pressed into hers. Jemma could tell how careful he was trying to be, and it made her heart flip over. If she hadn’t already been half in love with him, she would be now.

“No,” she said when he released her mouth, shaking her head firmly, “I want this, I just… keep remembering. It’s not you. I swear, it’s not.” Jemma looked at him, her gaze even with Fitz’ from here in his lap, pleading, “I don’t want to let him ruin this. I’ll be okay, I might just need a minute now and then.”

His heart clenched at her words, and Fitz had to break away from her eyes to look at the floor as he felt his earlier anger return. His fingers began to fidget against her knee, picking at the seam there as he tried to get it under control. Their first kisses weren’t theirs, not really, not with the specter of Harris hovering at the back of both their thoughts. And despite her reassurance and his desire to keep kissing her, he refused to rush this. Rushing this would mean breaking them and the little that they’d managed to build up in the space of four months. 

Fitz brought his eyes back to her face, wanting to take her in. She looked worried, as if she were afraid he’d push her away, and his mouth broke out into a small, sad smile at that. As if he could ever push her away or out of his life. His took his hand from her knee to cup her face. 

“We can do whatever i’ is tha’ ye’d like. Bu’ promise me ye’ll talk t’ me, an’ ye’ll tell me when i’ gets t’ be too much. I cannae bear th’ thought o’ causin’ ye more harm, lass, all because I was too eager t’ ge’ t’ ye.”

She glanced at his hand as he fidgeted at her knee and was just reaching for it when Fitz lifted it to her face. 

Jemma leaned into the touch and nodded, wrinkling her nose. “I think you’d notice, even if I didn’t say anything. I’m not exactly good at hiding what I’m feeling,” she said, laughing at herself a little because it was such an understatement. Jemma Simmons was no good at hiding anything or lying. Subterfuge simply wasn’t in her skillset. 

The tainted smile on his face made her want to hug him, so she did, curling her arms around his middle as best as she could with the way she was curled in his lap while still trying to avoid his bruises. Jemma tipped her head against his and sighed softly. “I know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt me. So please don’t think that.” 

Fitz closed his eyes as she leaned into him, the hand he'd been using to cup her cheek sliding part way into her hair as she drew herself closer. This was what he wanted, Jemma pressed against him, soft and warm. He should have been beyond thrilled, but he couldn't shake the sorrowful feeling that had him in its grip. 

"I-" his words faltered as he murmured in her ear. "Thank ye for trustin' me, Jemma. Bu' hurt is still hurt, intentional o' no'." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Jus'... warn me if ye can, all righ'?" 

That said, he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips and waited, wanting her to direct him in what she wanted. 

Jemma tipped her forehead to rest against his, her eyes slipping closed. Even though she wasn’t really accustomed to this whole cuddly relationship business, she was comfortable with him. “You still wouldn’t be the one hurting me - Harris is. It’s not your fault, Leo,” she reminded him. “If I need a minute, I’ll pull back like I did. Give me a bit to regroup… if I need to talk, I will.” Jemma blushed faintly, “I think we both know that I ramble when something is bothering me.” Certainly that was what happened when she was having trouble in the lab. It was no different with most personal matters.

She blindly leaned in the last bit of distance between them, catching the corner of his mouth before adjusting to kiss him properly. Her tongue just barely skimmed Fitz’ bottom lip, testing them both. 

He accepted her words, trusted her when she said she’d tell him, but he still felt like a cad for doing something he knew could cause her distress. Still, Fitz didn’t want to push the issue, for fear of making her think he didn’t want her at all. 

Instead he tilted his head the slightest bit to help Jemma adjust the angle of her kiss. He couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped him when he felt her tongue brush his mouth, or the way his fingers tightened where they held her, fighting the urge to roam over her body at their leisure. He took it as a sign, though, and let his own tongue cautiously slip forward to brush against hers. 

It was slow, almost painfully so, but Jemma eventually relaxed under Fitz’ attention. He was being careful, and the sharp contrast between his gentleness compared to Harris’ drunken pawing made all the difference. The one time a memory rose, Jemma drew in a gasp and stilled, her eyes squeezing shut against the instinctive reaction telling her to run. 

Jemma catalogued herself and Fitz to try and figure out what had set her off, lost enough in kisses and warm affection and soft caresses that she wasn’t entirely aware of every little thing that was happening. It was when she focused that she recognized a dull pain that felt like pressure on a bruise, tracing it back to where Fitz’ hand was laid over her hip, holding her against him. She hadn’t thought Harris had left marks there, but he’d certainly been grabby, and it was sore. 

Her mouth was still pressed against Fitz’, even though all the motion and actual kissing had paused. She pulled a hand away from her own quiet exploration and nudged his hand down toward her thigh, away from the sore spot. “Sorry. I think I have a bruise there,” she admitted in a soft whisper. “It was distracting me.” Wanting to distract him again, to not let him think about accidentally hurting her, Jemma hesitantly nipped his lower lip, a gentle scrape of teeth before she sucked his lip into her mouth and soothed it with her tongue. 

Fitz felt his stomach do a pleasant flip when she urged his hand onto her thigh, and he couldn’t help but moan when she sucked his lip into her mouth, the sensation of her tongue running over it sending tendrils of heat licking up his spine. He threaded his fingers through her hair to hold her in place and leaned into the kiss, hooking his other hand behind her knee to tug her a bit closer, as his heart pounded and his own tongue chased hers. 

He felt a bit of his control slipping, and with more effort than he’d care to admit, forced himself to return to softer touches. He loosened his grip on her leg, allowing his hand roam up and down from knee to hip in what he hoped were soothing patterns for her, and he untangled his fingers from her hair, giving her full control over her movements again. Still, Fitz felt his desire shift, turning somewhere he didn’t want it to go just yet, and he had to break from her, as much as he was loathe to do so. She looked a bit confused, and so it was with a sheepish smile that he explained, “Ye’re no’ th’ only one tha’ may need a break, Jem. I jus’ need mine for different reasons, is all.” 

Jemma had finally reached the point where she wasn’t thinking about anything but Fitz, lips and hands and solid warmth punctuated by the soft noises she’d discovered she could draw from him. The scientist in her was hypothesizing, experimenting and drawing conclusions based on his observable reactions, but the woman in her was giddy and pleased. 

She was enjoying herself and thought he was too, so of course Jemma was confused when he drew back. The smile Fitz gave her was sort of reassuring, but she still felt uncertain at the way he’d withdrawn from her, like he didn’t want her as close. Now that she was paying attention and understood, the pressure against her hip and thigh clearly explained what he had meant, but Jemma didn’t know what he needed from her. “Do- do you want me to move?” she asked, biting her lip nervously. 

Fitz blushed and bit his lip, fighting back a smart comment about how he exactly wanted her to move; it wasn't the time or the place. Instead, he urged her to sit a bit closer to his knees. "I' shouldnae bother ye as much if ye sit there," he explained. "Bu' I can still do this, too."

He leaned forward, careful to keep his hips away from her, and pressed a small kiss just below her ear. When she leaned into the touch, he worked his way along her jaw, and when he found her lips again, kissed her soundly. He was eager for Jemma, what bloke wouldn't be, but not so much that he couldn't control himself. He just didn't need the added temptation of her pressed against him. It was hard enough keeping his hands in check when she was busy slipping her tongue past his lips, little mewling sounds emanating from her throat. 

It occurred to Fitz, as he felt Jemma's hands fist into his hoodie, that she would easily be the death of him someday. 

Even though she was more than happy to continue kissing him, Jemma could tell Fitz wasn’t as relaxed as he had been before. Her fingers clenched in his hoodie for one last kiss and then she drew back. Sort of. Being perched up near his knees the way she was wasn’t exactly comfortable. Careful of his bruises and trying not to tease him any more than necessary, she settled back where she’d been before. 

Jemma laid her head on Fitz’ shoulder, one hand laid over his chest. “Time out for a few minutes?” she murmured, a little breathless herself. 

Fitz swallowed heavily and nodded, his heart racing as he wrapped his arms around her. He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, huddled against each other in a comfortable silence as they waited for their breathing and heartbeats to regulate. Eventually, feeling more himself, Fitz pressed a kiss to her temple and leaned back into the couch cushions. He toyed with the ends of her hair as he considered her and their entire bizarre situation.

“Jem?” he called softly. He waited for her to look up at him before he continued. “Woul’ ye mind if, when ye felt up t’ it, I took ye on an actual date?” He was upping the stakes on them, trying to tell her he wanted them to be something official when all was said and done. He held his breath, waiting for her response. 

She didn’t look up at him as much as she tipped her head and focused on Fitz. Jemma couldn’t really see more than the curve of his cheekbone and jaw, up to the arch of his brow, but when he spoke, she had to see. Slowly pushing up from her comfortable slouch, she met his eyes, searching his face. 

Jemma had wanted him to ask her out for at least two months. She suspected the crush had started earlier than that, but two months was the earliest she could pinpoint. Hearing the words now made her heart squeeze tight in her chest, even as her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. Feeling the way his chest had still under her hand, Jemma put him out of his misery with a soft, simple answer. “Yes, of course,” she murmured, leaning in to brush a soft kiss against his mouth. 

His lips twisted into a soft smile even as he returned her kiss, beyond thrilled that she had said yes. He supposed it was silly to worry, what with her in his lap and having just snogged her thoroughly, but part of him had been apprehensive that she’d say no. Satisfied, he slouched lower into the cushions, bringing her with him and cuddling her close now that he felt more in control. 

Fitz pressed a kiss to her temple and glanced about the room, his eyes catching on the time displayed on the DVD player. He hadn’t realized how late it’d gotten, and now that he was cognizant of the time, his stomach began grumbling at him. He groaned in frustration, his head dropping to the back of the sofa; he was comfortable where he was, Jemma snug in his lap, and didn’t really want to move, but his stomach wasn’t going to let him relax, either. 

“Jem, have ye gone shoppin’ lately? If ye have, I can see wha’ I can make us for dinner. If no’, well, I can always order somethin’.” He titled his head forward to look at her. “Any thoughts, lass, about dinner an’ curlin’ up t’ watch a movie?”

“I think there’s stuff in the refrigerator for sandwiches, and some soup leftover from what I made yesterday,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ll get it though. I can move easier than you can right now.” Jemma carefully scooted out of his lap, leaning to drop a kiss on Fitz’ curls. Her feet were still terribly sore, but better soreness than his bruised ribs. “You can pick the movie, if you want? You know what’s on your laptop better than I do,” Jemma called from the kitchen as she dug things out from the refrigerator. 

She heard a faint groan from the living room and assumed he was getting up to get his laptop, busying herself with setting the pot of soup on to heat and building sandwiches. 

His vision went a bit dark at the edges as he stood and his head spun, but it passed after a moment, leaving only his ribs complaining at him. Fitz’ lips twisted into a grimace at thought that he could have prevented all of this if he’d ignored Jenkins’ ideas about “honor” and brought the damn bike chains like he’d planned… although it likely would have resulted in an actual arrest. He sighed, knowing it was no good regretting what was already done, and instead went to root through his bag. 

He found his laptop, and seeing that either Jemma or her roommate had HDMI cables already attached to the set, quickly completed the connection before sorting through his media folders. He had been thinking of putting on a movie, anything with action in it, but thought better of it. He scrolled through his TV shows, and finding what he wanted, called over his shoulder to her. 

“Jemma, how d’ ye feel about Doctor Who?”

“New or old? I can’t quite get past the cheesy effects on old Who anymore,” Jemma called in response. “And what do you want on your sandwich? Or sandwiches.” She made an inarticulate noise of frustration before her voice sounded out again. “Wait. Let me guess. Two sandwiches. Ham and turkey, swiss, tomato and mustard. No lettuce?” Giving the chicken soup a quick stir, Jemma waited for confirmation or for Fitz to correct her guess. 

It was unnerving how well she could predict his food choices, and Fitz would have been disturbed if his stomach hadn’t given a particularly powerful rumble at the thought of sandwiches. 

“Yea’, tha’ sounds good!” he called back as he fiddled with the the settings on his laptop and the TV, trying to get the correct ratios up and running. “An’ new Who,” he responded. “I was thinkin’ o’ startin’ with th’ fourth series.” In Fitz’ opinion, even the first three series of the new Who left a lot to be desired in terms of special effects, almost to the point of distracting him. He’d rather not deal with that tonight. He stood up, ready to hit play just as Jemma entered the room carrying two bowls of soup. He ducked into the kitchen to grab the remaining plates, and taking a seat on the sofa next to her, pressed play on his laptop and tucked into the meal she’d prepared for them. 

“Fourth series. That’s still 10, isn’t it? Is that the Martha series, or Donna?” Jemma liked all the new Who companions so far, for various reasons, and adored 10. There was just something about the way David Tennant played the character that she loved. 

She settled in next to him on the couch, but despite her best efforts, Jemma still couldn’t get herself to eat. She picked at the soup, and only managed a few bites of her sandwich. By the time the first episode was wrapping up, 45 minutes later, she’d pretty much given up, setting both dishes aside to lean back into the corner of the couch. Her toes were tucked under Fitz’ thigh to keep them warm in the meantime. 

Fitz bolted through his bowl of soup and both sandwiches in record time, barely taking time to chew and swallow; he hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until he’d begun eating, and even the dull ache in his jaw from where Harris had gotten him across the jaw was enough to dissuade him from finishing what Jemma had set before him. 

His belly full, he sat back, sinking a bit into the couch cushions as he tried to turn his attention to the episode playing out on the screen before him, his mind drifting as the Doctor attempted to save the second coming of the Titanic. He had seen the episode often enough, and he found his attention drifting to Jemma. She hadn’t touched her food beyond a few nibbles, and it had him worried. He wondered if her lack of appetite was an indication of something more serious, and lifting her feet into his lap, he shifted to face her more squarely from where he sat on the sofa. 

He winced when he saw the extent of the damage that had been done, the blisters and cuts that must have made it difficult for her to walk, and he brushed a gentle finger over the top of her foot. Her skin was chilled, and he reached back for the throw blanket he’d seen to cover her feet in an attempt to keep her warm. 

When he finally met her eyes, Fitz found that they were slightly more guarded than he’d expected, and he instantly changed his plan to goad her into eating more; her look alone told him it would get him nowhere. 

“Woul’ ye like some tea? A cuppa’s always good a’ nigh’, yeah?” He tried to keep his tone light and casual, not wanting to give her cause to shut him out once again. That morning had been difficult enough, and Fitz certainly didn’t want a repeat performance. 

Jemma had hardly been paying attention to the episode as it played out on the screen, her thoughts occupied by the night before. She was just too unsettled to eat, her stomach turning anxiously at the thought of food.

She startled when Fitz's fingers closed around her feet. The contrasting warmth of his fingers against her cold skin made her shiver .Jemma swallowed hard against the lump in her throat when his eyes met hers in the dim light from the kitchen and the flickering from the television. The throw he settled over her helped, but she would almost rather he'd kept his hands against her skin.

Fitz' eyes searched hers, and she fought not to let on how badly she felt at that moment. Here he was doing everything he could to try and make her feel better, and all Jemma wanted to do was hide. “No... thank you,” she replied softly, “The kettle's in the cabinet over the sink if you want to make some for yourself, though.” An irrational piece of her didn't want him to leave her side, even for that long, but Jemma put on the best face she could. “I think I'm just going to curl up here for a little while.”

Going to sleep wasn't an option. Not yet. Jemma was pretty well certain that James Harris was going to live in her dreams for quite some time to come, whether she wanted him to be there or not. 

She smiled at him, but Jemma’s usually warm expression didn’t meet her eyes the way it should have. Fitz found it rather odd and disquieting, and any thought of putting on the kettle for the two of them flew out of his head. There was no way he could leave her now, he realized, not even to go to the kitchen. “I can wait t’ make a cuppa, Jem,” he answered honestly before settling back into his end of the sofa. “Th’ kettle’ll still be there whenever we ge’ sick o’ th’ Doctor.”

He fidgeted a moment, trying shift into a more comfortable position so he could keep her feet in his lap and prop his own feet up on the coffee table. Eventually he managed to find a position that would be comfortable for both of them, and slid his hands back under the blanket to cover her feet. They were still freezing, despite the blanket, and he felt his brow furrow a bit as he looked at her. 

“Ye’re freezin’,” he murmured, stating what she must have already known. Still, he used it as an excuse to keep his hands on her ankles, palms pressed against the top of each foot in a bid to warm her even the slightest bit. 

“They’re always cold,” Jemma murmured, shrugging a shoulder. Ignoring the television for the moment, she shifted to lean into the cushions, her side and cheek pressed against the back of the small couch. “That feels good,” she added, not wanting Fitz to think she didn’t appreciate what he was doing, “But I probably should have gotten a real blanket and brought my pillows out here if we’re going to have a Who marathon.” 

The anxiety still lingering in her wanted to be able to nest, and Jemma thought maybe Fitz wouldn’t mind that quirky bit of behavior. If she could have that and him, it’d go a long way toward settling some of the nerves that were still jangled inside her. 

Fitz watched her as she spoke, her stress evident in the way she huddled against the back of the sofa. His hands stroked over her ankles unthinkingly, even as he nodded in agreement. 

"All righ'. Go ge' what ye need." He shifted her feet out of his lap so he could stand. "I'll set up th' autoplay in th' meantime," his eyes landed on the dishes that cluttered the coffee table, and he gingerly bent to scoop them up. "I'll handle these, too." Fitz noticed the look she gave him, a protest clearly on her lips, and he cut her off. "Ye made it, I clean it. Fair's fair. Now go on," he urged with a nod toward her room, "ge' wha' ye need. I'll be righ' here."

Jemma hesitated, really wanting to protest him cleaning up after her. Still, she appreciated that he was trying to be helpful so after a second she bumped her shoulder against his and climbed up from the couch. 

She had a pile of pillows on her bed, and Jemma made two trips to bring them and her favorite, somewhat threadbare quilt out to the couch. Fitz’ rattling about in the kitchen, washing the dishes they’d used, was something of a comfort as she arranged the pillows and blanket. Jemma settled in, curled on her side and wrapped around a pillow, leaving enough space behind her for a skinny engineer to fit into - if he wanted to. 

Fitz finished drying the dishes, and once he draped the tea towel over the counter to dry, headed back to the commons. He wasn’t quite prepared for what he saw, although he smiled a bit at the sight all the same. 

She had barricaded herself with pillows and huddled under what was clearly her favorite old quilt. She was turned toward the TV, and her head turned toward him as he approached the couch. “Simmons,” he lightly teased as he paused next to her, “where exactly did ye expec’ me t’ sit?”

She flushed pink and ducked into the pillow she was hugging on. “I just thought…” 

Embarrassed now, she pushed up a little toward the arm of the couch and tucked her knees up toward her chest. “Never mind,” Jemma sighed. She was too tired and it had been too much of a day to have to explain herself. He might really not even want to snuggle with her like that anyway. His ribs were terribly bruised after all. 

His heart broke a little watching her; he hadn't meant to make her pull away from him. He sat on the space her feet had just vacated, and placing gentle hands on her calves, tugged her feet towards him and shifted onto his hip as he slid behind her. 

"Ye know, Jemma, I wouldnae mind layin' down." He paused, unsure if he was overstepping himself. "Tha' is, if ye think there's room."

Jemma let him tug her back down, easing forward toward the edge of the couch and moving her quilt out of the way to create a place for him behind her again. “There’s room, if you don’t mind not having a lot of space. I know you’re sore…” She broke off as Fitz slid over into the gap she’d created, the sudden dip of the cushion drawing her to lean against him almost immediately. The solid warmth of him down the length of her back was a wonderful shock. Jemma let out a pleased sigh, snuggling back and letting her chilled feet find his. 

He slipped in behind her, ignoring his complaining ribs as he did so. Once they settled in, his aches would fade to the background once again. 

Fitz couldn't help but grin at the way she molded herself against him, and carefully draped an arm about her waist, taking care to not squeeze her too tightly. After they had each found comfortable positions, he reached over the arm of the sofa to press play, and relaxed against her to watch as the Doctor's next adventure played out on the screen. 

It had only been a day, but it seemed like it had been forever since Jemma felt safe. She knew, rationally, that it would be awhile before the psychological effects of Harris’ attack faded, and that was normal. Knowing he’d defended her when he didn’t have to, even though she didn’t usually condone violence, had solidified the crush she’d had, but it didn’t make sense for her to feel so safe at this moment. There were many things that attracted her to Fitz, but he’d never be able to physically defend her without a weapon or friends at hand. 

Regardless, the feeling was there. As much as Jemma loved Doctor Who, after a couple episodes with Fitz’ body heat warming her down to her toes, his breath lightly stirring her hair, Jemma found herself getting drowsy. She snuggled the pillow closer to her front, edged the quilt higher over her shoulder, and sleepily searched out Fitz’ fingers where his arm was draped over her. 

Fitz could feel how she had gone nearly boneless against him as the tension drained out of her body, and nuzzled in a bit closer to her. He could almost imagine, if it weren’t for the dull aches in his ribs and jaw, that this was the end to a normal date, something he wished he’d gotten up the nerve to ask her on after the fiasco with McKay: just dinner and a movie and maybe coffee at the bakery she loved but couldn’t justify the outrageous price on a student’s budget. That’s what he should have done, if he’d only had the courage...

He huffed out a soft sigh, eyes shut tight as he burrowed his face into the fragrant waves of Jemma’s hair. He was nearly ready to give in to the wave of despair he felt was ready to crash over him when Jemma threaded her fingers through his own. The soft touch brings his attention back to her and served as a reminder the way she clearly trusted him to be there for her. Fitz felt his despair recede, replaced by something fuzzy and warm that took up residence in his chest and he’d rather not attempt to define at the moment.

Instead he tightened his fingers around hers, and wrapping his arm more securely about her, held her just a little bit closer. A quick peek over her shoulder showed him that her eyes were fluttering closed, a sleepy expression plastered across her face. He nestled his chin onto her shoulder so he could speak directly into her ear. 

“Jemma, I think i’s time for bed, lass.” 

Jemma shivered at the ticklish feeling of his breath against her ear, happy enough to let him pull her in closer to him, not that there was much space between them anyway. Enveloped in heat, comfortable and content, half-asleep, the last thing she wanted was to move. Making a soft noise of protest, Jemma mumbled out, “I don’t want to move.” 

There was another bit that Jemma only blearily realized was mostly gibberish, but she did manage to get out, “If I go to bed, you’re coming with me.” If she’d been more conscious of what she was saying, she’d have blushed, but… Fitz had kissed her earlier, snuggled with her on her couch. Even without the feelings stringing out between them that they’d eventually have to discuss, Jemma needed this sweetness right now. Just the quiet, cuddly moments to remind her that what happened with Harris was not how it should be. Not how it would be, with Fitz. 

Getting up would mean moving all the pillows back to her room, getting settled again. Her bed was far more comfortable though, even if she still couldn’t hold onto Fitz the way she wanted because of his injuries. He probably needed another dose of ibuprofen too, or he’d wake up miserable in the middle of the night. Jemma sighed and stirred, waking herself back up with her thinking. 

She turned her head, rubbing her cheek against his, catlike, as she sighed again and tried to convince herself to move away from Fitz. “Help me move everything back to my room?” Jemma asked. “And stay with me?” Jemma made it a question this time instead of her initial sleepy demand.

His heart fluttered at the way she nuzzled against him as she turned, blinking at him sleepily as she spoke. Fitz felt a bit of hesitation at her question; he’d fallen asleep with her in her bed earlier, true, but still… eventually, he nodded in reluctant agreement. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep without knowing she was all right, and the easiest way to manage that was to be next to her. He tapped their joined hands against her stomach and pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

“All righ’, lass, if ye want. I’m righ’ behind ye.”

He waited for her to shift out from under the quilt, shivering a bit in the cool air when she tugged the soft blanket with her. He followed her, moving slowly as his sore body complained at him. This was going to be a rough night, and he knew it. With a sigh he pushed off the sofa and gathered the pillows she hadn’t been able to pick up, and quietly slipped into her bedroom behind her.


	6. Chapter 6

Even as tired as she was, Jemma could see that he was having trouble moving around and it made her heart clench in her chest. She slipped around Fitz as he came in with the pillows to get the ibuprofen and arnica gel, bringing them back along with a glass of water. “You’re due for another dose,” she murmured, popping the top from the caplets. “You’re hurting more now, aren’t you?” That was usually the case with bruises and strained muscles. The stiffness and soreness after laying down for a while was the worst part. 

“If you take the hoodie off, I’ll put some more arnica on the bruises. Hopefully I caught them in time that it will help.” His black eye seemed to not be quite as dark, but that could just be wishful thinking on her part. 

Jemma handed him the ibuprofen, a slightly heavier dose than before so he’d hopefully make it through the rest of the night without too much trouble. She settled on the edge of her bed, keeping an eye on him while she arranged her pillows back into the pile she preferred. 

Fitz saw the sense in her words and popped the little white tablets in his mouth, washing them down with the water she gave him. He was in more pain than he had been before, but he wondered how much of that was because he was out in the cold and not huddled up under a blanket, warm, with Jemma. Still, despite the chill in the air, he obediently reached for the metal pull tab on the hoodie’s zipper and tugged it down. 

She ended up back on her feet to help him ease the hoodie down without straining himself. This time, she started with his eye, carefully dabbing the gel around it before working her way down Fitz’ body. It seemed easier this time, maybe because now she knew how he felt and they’d spent hours snuggled on the couch watching Doctor Who. Or maybe just because she’d already done this once. 

It felt like it didn’t take nearly as long, but Jemma was much closer to being fully awake again than she had been, even though she could feel the tiredness still. At some point she was simply going to pass out, after being up all night, getting broken sleep today, and now being up late. Her body couldn’t take it. Still, she felt like she owed Fitz some attention. He was in this condition because of her, in a way. 

“Do you think you can lay on your stomach?” she asked when she finished, looking over the bruising on his ribs. Jemma had it in mind to rub his shoulders again, if he could get comfortable. “Actually, never mind that. Sit on the edge of the bed, would you?” 

All Fitz wanted to do was sleep, lulled by the gentle touch Jemma had used to apply the arnica gel to his battered torso, and his most fervent wish at the moment was for the gel to dry quickly so he could put his hoodie back on and crawl under the covers with her once more. But that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon, and so he complied, lowering himself to sit at the very edge of her bed. He stifled a yawn before he looked up at her and gave her a sleepy grin. 

“Does this work for ye, lass, o’ shoul’ I change positions?” 

“That’s fine,” she murmured. Jemma crawled onto the bed, her legs bracketing his hips a moment later as she settled in close behind Fitz, her fingers tentatively laid over his bare skin on either side of his spine and rubbing gently. “Just let me know if anything hurts too badly, so I can leave it alone.” 

Really, this was a little about her too. It wasn’t like Jemma couldn’t appreciate having a reason to get her hands on him and explore a little without worrying that things would get out of hand. “It’ll take a little while for the arnica to soak in, so I might as well put the time to good use, right?” 

He nodded in response to her question, settling into the feel of her hands gliding against his skin. Fitz felt a bit selfish; he might have been knocked around, but she was the one who had suffered. He should have been caring for Jemma, not the other way around, but still, he gave himself over to the gentle poking and prodding of her fingers. 

Jemma was good at this, he noted absentmindedly as his muscles relaxed bit by bit, his body drifting toward her in increments without his realizing it. His hands, previously twisted together in his lap, separated of their own accord and came to rest atop her knees, which rested against his own. He wanted to say something, anything, to thank her, but somehow words didn’t seem sufficient. Instead, he just lightly squeezed her knees and relaxed into her touch once more. 

She couldn’t help but smile when he started tipping back toward her, even though he kept catching himself and pulling himself upright again. By the third time, Jemma’s hands were getting tired, and she’d irritated the finger with the deeply broken nail, so instead of letting him draw away, she carefully slid her arms around Fitz’ waist, below the bruises and the still-tacky gel. 

It reminded her just how grateful she should be that she had him in her life, because otherwise this would be even more of a nightmare. Jemma couldn’t imagine trusting any guy to get too close to her right now, except him. Fitz, she wanted to keep close. Wanted to let him care for her and know he’d never do anything like what Harris did to her. 

Turning her head, Jemma laid her cheek against Fitz’ spine with a soft sigh, her nose against his shoulder blade as she leaned in a little. “I think it may really be time for bed now,” she murmured. 

Still feeling lethargic, Fitz moved his arms to lay over hers, his hands curving gently over her forearms as he pulled her as close as he could in this position. Her breathing was an intimate wash of heat across the skin of his back, and he could feel little goose bumps rise in its wake. For Fitz, who had kissed a few but had never had what could be called a serious relationship, the position felt incredibly intimate, and he was surprised by how much he enjoyed it.

He was more than a bit startled by everything that concerned Jemma Simmons, if he were to be perfectly honest with himself. He’d never exactly been one to form easy attachments; it had been far easier, he found, to keep his head down and burn through his degrees with a minimal amount of social contact. Granted, he had been so young not many of his classmates had wanted to spend much time with him, but he hadn’t minded much. Yet, his lab partner had caused him to rethink his stance bit by bit. He turned his head toward her as best he could, a sleepy grin on his face. 

“I think ye’re righ’.” He yawned, not bothering to hide it from her. “Did ye wan’ th’ bathroom first?”

Jemma made a noise of protest. “I think I can live without brushing my teeth before bed for once.” She reluctantly released him to reach back and draw the blankets down, scooting back onto the exposed sheets. “We should have just stayed out on the couch - we’d already be asleep, for certain.” 

She patted the space next to her as she slid down under the covers, her upper body sinking into the pile of pillows Jemma had created. “C’mere, Leo. We both need to sleep...” Her voice went soft and a little shy, hesitating before she finished her statement. “And I don’t think I can unless you’re here.” 

He missed the warmth of her pressed against his back as soon as she pulled away, and he turned to face her without hesitation, his weariness stripping him of any of the usual hesitation he’d be feeling in this situation. 

Fitz considered for a moment whether he should put his hoodie back on, but quickly decided against it. If she had no problem pressing up against his bare back a moment ago, he reasoned, she shouldn’t have trouble with him sleeping without it. That decided, he slipped back beneath the quilt, and settling onto his back, opened his arm to her, offering her a place to rest if she decided to take it. 

There was only a beat of hesitation as Jemma considered him, and that was only for where she should put her arm that wouldn’t bother him. She ended up settling low against Fitz’ shoulder, both her hands tucked up between her body and his, his heartbeat a heavy, steady thump in her ear where her head was laid on his chest. 

His arm closed around her shoulders, warmth radiating through her top, and Jemma let out a softly contented noise. She was quickly drawn back toward sleep, but she had to say one more thing before she drifted off. “Thank you,” she whispered, “For everything.” 

Fitz gave her shoulders a little squeeze, and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, managed to whisper, “G’nigh’, Jem,” before drifting off himself. 

~*~

He woke up early, far earlier than usual, his body feeling like one, giant ache. He looked down to where Jemma was still sound asleep on his chest, her arm wrapped about him. He hated to slip out of bed and risk waking her, but he knew he couldn’t lay there much longer without another dose of ibuprofen. 

Moving carefully, he unwound her arm from his waist and slid to the edge of the bed. Steeling himself for the extra wave of soreness he knew would come when he slipped off the mattress. Still, he managed to do it without waking her, and moving as quietly as he could, grabbed the little bottle of pain relievers from the bedside table before padding into the kitchen for a glass of water. 

Fitz didn’t wake her up, but even in her sleep Jemma knew something had changed. Without his warmth and solidity to ground her, she twisted in the blankets, looking for something that was no longer there and only succeeded in tangling herself in the sheets. The sudden restriction of her body sent the memory of Harris flashing into her dreams, shifting away from the more innocuous visions she’d had previously. 

After crying out in her sleep, Jemma shot up in the bed, flailing herself loose from the covers and huddling there wild-eyed, her forehead damp with sudden sweat. 

Fitz dropped the pill bottle, the rattle of the tablets loud in the dark of the small dorm, and practically ran back to her room when he heard her cry out. The sight that greeted him nearly broke his heart: Jemma sat huddled against the wall, wide-eyed and clearly frightened. He approached the bed slowly, not wanting to startle her when she was already clearly in a panic, and moved to sit near her. He took care to keep some distance, in case his proximity only made her reaction more severe. 

He reached for her, hand settling gently on her shoulder and giving a small squeeze to get her attention. “Jemma, I’m righ’ here, lass,” he cooed to her, coaxing her to first look at him and then sliding in a bit closer so he could wrap an arm about her and press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ve go’ ye, Jem, I’ve go’ ye.” 

Jemma reached for him at the same time he reached for her, curling in under his arm and in against his shoulder. She pulled in deep breaths, counting silently and slowly to 5 on each inhale and exhale. The exercise helped put her back in the here and now instead being caught in the helpless panic of her dream. 

“Where did you go?” she asked. It wasn’t so much upset, although she suspected that was what had woken her, but curiosity. He’d come in from the commons, not from her bathroom. “Did you have trouble sleeping?” Jemma would feel terrible if she’d kept him awake with her restlessness. 

Fitz squeezed her a bit about the shoulders, wanting her closer to him, and pressed a kiss to her forehead before speaking. 

“I woke up sore, lass, is all. I jus’ needed some more ibuprofen an’ a glass o’ water.” He began to run his hand over her arm as he explained, trying to help soothe the last of her nerves. He was almost tempted to ask what she had seen in her dreams to wake her so suddenly, but he knew damn well what it was: Harris. He could practically feel every muscle in his body stiffen at the thought of the older cadet, undoing all of Jemma’s earlier work with her massage. He closed his eyes, even as he held her, and forced himself to relax.

He leaned back into the pillows as he did so, bringing her with him and tucking her into his side, where she’d been before he’d slipped out of bed. Weariness was beginning to tug at the edges of his consciousness yet again, and he stifled a yawn as he worked the quilt back around the two of them. “C’mon, Jemma, le’s try t’ ge’ a little more sleep,” he urged, kissing the top of her head before allowing his eyes to drift shut. 

She resisted when he tried to pretend nothing was wrong, drawing back to look at him. “Wait. Did you get the ibuprofen and water?” Jemma asked. The last thing she wanted was for him to be in pain, especially because she’d been a baby about having a nightmare. “Because you should. I can be alone for a minute…” 

Jemma didn’t have to like it, though. 

All she wanted was to spend the rest of the night curled up with him. Even though her heart pitter-pattered when he pulled her in, Jemma didn’t want to settle yet if he was going to be uncomfortable. 

Fitz squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. He'd forgotten all about the pain relievers in his rush to get back to her and getting her settled. And then the bed had been so warm, and he'd been so comfortable with her pressed against him... sleep had seemed more pressing than the pain. He knew she was right, though, and that he'd only be up again in an hour or so if he didn't take another dose.

"No," he admitted, "I forgot th' damn ibuprofen. Jus' give me a moment t' go get some, an' I'll be right back."

It gave her a funny feeling in her chest, that he’d completely forgotten what he was doing because he was worried about her. “I’ll be okay if you leave me alone for a minute,” Jemma repeated. “Go on.” 

He slipped out of the bed and Jemma sat back up to straighten out the covers she’d tangled and mussed with her panicked flailing, smoothing them out and spreading them properly over the mattress again. She glanced up at movement from the doorway and gave him a tentative smile. “I’ll see if I can get you something stronger than ibuprofen tomorrow. Later today,” she corrected, glancing at the clock and seeing it was after 3am. 

Fitz quirked a brow at her words as he slipped back between the covers. "Somethin' stronger?" he teased as he leaned back onto the pillows. "Are ye runnin' a drug ring I dinnae know about, lass?" 

He turned his head to face her, and gave her a soft smile before tugging at her hand. He wanted her to curl into him once more; he'd been incredibly comfortable earlier, until his aches had woken him, and wanted to have her plastered to his side once more. He wouldn't say it aloud but Fitz was certain it was the only way he'd be able to get back to sleep. 

“Biochemist, remember?” Jemma laughed. “I can ask for things you can’t and no one will question it. At the very worst, I can make a muscle relaxant and an anti-inflammatory for you to take along with the ibuprofen.” She wrinkled her nose at him as she followed his tug, carefully easing into the space he’d left for her. 

Mindful of his bruises and aches, Jemma snuggled into his side and tipped her head to rest on his chest, one leg edging forward to overlap his. She desperately needed more sleep, and wanted more of the solid, peaceful kind she had gotten while cuddled in at his side earlier that night. “Leo?” she piped up hesitantly, voice soft. “If you have to get up again… will you wake me up? Please?” Her fingers traced light patterns over his chest while she waited for him to answer. If his absence was really what brought on the nightmare, she didn’t want another repeat.

Her tone caused him to crack open his eyes once more and look down at her as he registered the hesitation in her voice. It made him a little sad to think she still had doubts as to whether he’d do whatever he could to ease her fears. He snuggled down closer to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Course, Jem, if ye wan’. I jus’ wasnae thinkin’ before.” He hugged her about the shoulders and shut his eyes once more. “Now, go t’ sleep, lass. We both need it.”

Jemma laid there next to him for a long while, trying to drift back off, but every time she dozed she only woke herself back up with her frazzled nerves. It took an hour before she slid away to fetch her tablet and bring it back to bed with her. Curling up until his arm again, her back against his side, she buried herself in a book until the first hints of sunrise showed through her curtains. 

It was about that time that Fitz rolled onto his side and spooned up against her back, his other arm coming around her in addition to the one she was pillowed on and hugging to her chest. Sighing softly at the way his - even unconscious - affection sent a rush of warmth through her, Jemma set the tablet aside to snuggle in and enjoy the cuddling, even if she couldn’t sleep.

Fitz woke slowly, warm and content to be wrapped around Jemma, the slightly floral scent of her shampoo in his nose. He nuzzled further into the nape of her neck, unwilling to fully wake up. He knew that when he did wake up, the achy feeling that had become seemingly his entire rib cage would return full force. He was just about to drift off again, arm tucked securely about Jemma’s waist, when he felt her shift back a little further into his chest and give a little sigh. 

He opened his eyes for that, curious as to why she was awake. They’d both been so tired after yesterday, he’d expected them both to sleep in today. “Jem?” he mumbled against her neck, his voice uneven with sleep. “Did I wake ye?”

“No,” she said softly, her voice tired. “I’ve been up for a while.” Jemma didn’t want to tell him that she’d been awake this whole time. “Go back to sleep if you want. I’m fine.” And surprisingly, she actually meant that. Just having him here was enough, knowing if she needed him she could nudge him back into wakefulness. 

Jemma felt Fitz shift and was suddenly afraid he was going to move. Reaching for his hand, she wrapped it in hers and pulled his arm a little tighter around her. Maybe it was clingy, or even needy, but right now she didn’t particularly care. The illusion of safety she’d had for so long had been ripped away and Jemma didn’t like the uncertain feeling it had left behind. 

He hadn’t expected that from her, not that he minded her pulling him more securely against her, but the action had seemed almost panicky. That woke Fitz up fully, and he was suddenly on alert for any signs of distress from Jemma. 

She was tense, her entire body tight where she huddled against him, but other than that, he couldn’t see anything that might be wrong. He could guess what had made her nervous, and decided to go along with what she’d started. Fitz wrapped himself around her a bit more tightly, his face finding its way back to bury itself in the nape of her neck. He gave a sigh of contentment and pressed a quick kiss to the skin he found there as his thumb began tracing small arcs across her palm. 

“I’m no’ goin’ anywhere, lass,” he reassured her. “Well, no’ until ye ask me t’ leave a’ leas’.”

The tension drained out of her at his soft reassurance and gentle affection. Why had she waited so long to tell him how she felt? If Jemma had known her prickly, brilliant lab partner would be like this toward her once he felt free to, she’d have said something ages ago. 

It gave her the confidence to admit just how badly Harris had shaken her up. “I couldn’t get back to sleep after… before. I’ve been up reading all this time.” Despite herself, Jemma felt close to tears from the exhaustion and the irrational feeling of failure. She felt like she should be stronger than this, better able to put the reaction aside and go on with her life. She couldn’t expect Fitz to baby her like this forever. 

Even sleep-addled, Fitz could hear the shaky quality of her voice, the way it wavered a bit as she confessed that she hadn’t been back to bed. He craned his neck, looking for the alarm clock he knew sat on her bedside table, and checked the time. It was nearly 8 am, meaning she’d gotten maybe three hours of actual, restful sleep tops. No wonder she sounded so on edge. 

He used the arm he had draped over her waist to urge her to turn so she was facing him, their knees knocking against each other a bit as they settled. With the change in position, he could look her in the eye, and the sadness he saw there nearly broke his heart. It was evident she was exhausted, and the glassy sheen gave away that she was near tears. 

“Good thing i’s Saturday,” he began, trying to keep the conversation light so she wouldn’t feel as acutely self-conscious. “We can sleep in as long as we like, an’ with th’ term endin’ so soon, there aren’t any new assignments, either.” He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. “So, I think th’ best thing righ’ now would be t’ try t’ go back t’ bed. I think we both could use i’.”

Jemma turned over at his urging, but could only meet his eyes for a few seconds, even with the concerned expression she found there. The darkened bruise around his eye only served as a fresh reminder of everything that had gone wrong in the past two days. Closing her eyes against the burn of tears didn’t stop a few of them from trickling out and down Jemma’s cheeks, the flow speeding up at his quiet words and kiss. 

“I don’t know if I can sleep,” Jemma whispered brokenly. “I’m so tired, but every time I doze off, I just wake right back up again. I could take one of my anxiety pills, but…” It would leave her feeling gross and groggy for at least an hour when she woke up, if not most of the day. 

She tipped forward to press her forehead to Fitz’ scruffy, morning-stubbled chin, swallowing hard. “I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Jemma tried to remember where she’d put the bottle after the last dose, taken before her long, terrifying walk over to Fitz’ dorm last night. 

He frowned a bit, disliking the idea of her feeling that she had to use her medication if she really didn’t want to take it.

“Jem,” he whispered into her hair, “would marathoning something help? I mean, i’ migh’ distract ye from thinkin’ too much about i’, an’ th’ steady sound migh’ help ye sleep.” He shrugged his shoulders and nuzzled her a bit more. “I mean, if ye really dinnae wan’ t’ take a pill t’ help ye sleep.” 

“It’s for anxiety,” Jemma explained, “I normally only take it for panic attacks, but I haven’t ever felt like this…” She sat up with a sigh, scrubbing at her face to swipe away the tears before she looked around her room for the bottle. “No marathons. Music, might help though?” she suggested quietly. 

The truth was, the more she thought about it, the more she was conflicted about how she felt. Fitz was here, she was safe. So why couldn’t she relax? Nothing made sense right now. 

Jemma glanced back at Fitz with a wan smile before she crawled off the foot of the bed to fetch the small orange bottle from her vanity. “I need to get water. Want anything while I’m up?” 

Fitz was pensive as he observed her, wishing there was something more he could do to take her worry away and help her sleep. He belatedly realized that he’d been asked a question, and shook himself a bit to clear his head. 

“No, nothin’ for me, Jem. I’m all righ’,” he answered, swinging his legs off the bed and catching her inquisitive look. “Lass, I mean i’. I’m jus’ goin’ for my laptop. I have a playlist I use for when I cannae ge’ t’ sleep. Since ye said music migh’ help, I just thought…” 

He trailed off, suddenly embarrassed and worried that he’d overstepped his bounds. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and kept his gaze glued to the floor, worried about what he’d find if he looked her in the eye again. 

“I’ll get it,” Jemma shook her head at him, only to realize that he’d dropped his eyes, suddenly looking as unsure as she felt. “Fitz, it’s okay. I’m already up, and you shouldn’t be moving around too much with your bruises anyway.” 

She came back over to sit next to him on the edge of the bed, up close against his unbruised side and gently bumped her shoulder against his. “I really appreciate you doing all this for me, you know.” 

He looked over at her, the hand he’d had on his neck dropping and cautiously slipping to rest on her knee. “I’s nothin’, Jemma,” he told her, voice soft. “O’ course I’d wan’ t’ help ye. I already told ye, ye’re my bes’ friend. I couldnae let ye go through this alone.”

He leaned in to her a bit, giving her a small smile, before patting her knee lightly. “Go on, lass, ge’ some water. I’ll be here, waitin’. An’ my laptop should still be connected t’ the TV, if ye did wan’ tha’ play list.”

Jemma hesitated a moment before leaning in and pressing a kiss to Fitz’ cheek, laying her head against his shoulder for just a second before slipping away to take her Ativan and fetch his laptop and charger. When she came back, she handed him the laptop and busied herself leaning down behind her nightstand to plug in the charger while he found the playlist he’d mentioned. 

“So,” she mused quietly, “What’s on this ‘Fitz can’t sleep’ playlist?” 

He blushed a bit, worried she was teasing him a bit, but kept his eyes focused on his laptop screen. 

“Nothin’ fancy. Mostly instrumental stuff, piano an’ guitar. Anything else is too busy. My brain won’ le’ i’ go.” He found the playlist he’d been looking for, and setting it to shuffle, hit play and set it on her nightstand. He stood, wincing as his aches pulled at him a bit, and held up the covers, waiting for her to get in first before settling in himself. 

Jemma slipped past him, crawling under the blankets. Her movements were slow and a little uncoordinated from being so tired, and she was grateful to just lie down. With any luck her medication would kick in soon and she’d be able to sleep properly for a few hours at least. 

“Sounds perfect,” Jemma murmured, settling on her side and curling into a small ball, looking up at him. “Anything with lyrics would probably keep me awake.” Fitz followed her in, stretching out next to her, and Jemma sighed at the immediate urge to snuggle into his side. What was she going to do when he had to go back to his own dorm? He couldn’t stay here indefinitely. 

He frowned a bit when she stayed on her half of the bed instead of moving to lay against him the way he’d expected. He didn’t wait for an invitation this time, he was simply too tired to stop on account of manners, and stretching out his arm to serve as her pillow, tugged her against him. Fitz nuzzled the crown of her head, pressed a kiss into her hair, and began to skim his fingertips over her back in an attempt to help her fall asleep. 

Her heart skipped several beats when Fitz turned toward her and pulled her close, the affectionate rub of his nose in her hair and the soothing stroke of his fingers down her spine putting a lump in her throat that it took a minute to swallow back down. Despite practically making out with him last night, there was still a piece of her that was uncertain and shy and Jemma hated that. She wanted to believe that even though she’d been scared to admit her feelings for fear of hurting their existing relationship, she wouldn’t have been this hesitant. 

Reaching up to curl a hand behind his neck, she braced herself against her nervousness and leaned up to set her lips against his. Heedless of morning breath, his bruises, her anxiety or anything else, Jemma took the moment to just kiss him, blocking out anything and everything except the warm press of his mouth against hers for that brief moment, before she drew back and set her forehead against Fitz’.

There was a sorrow behind her kiss that startled him, setting his nerves on edge even as he kissed her back. When she pulled away, Fitz brushed her hair out of her face, just observing her. There was a nervous tension in her that concerned him, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do. So, he leaned in and kissed her again, lingering and sweet, before he spoke. 

“Jemma, I’m righ’ here. Jus’ tell me wha’ ye need, an’ I’ll handle it. Promise.” 

“No, I know, I…” Jemma hadn’t expected him to question her sudden need to kiss him and fumbled to explain something of what was in her head. “Last night… Everything feels a little fuzzy and unreal right now. Maybe because I’ve gotten so little sleep the past 48 hours, but… I wanted a reminder.” 

She drew back from him a little, to untuck her legs from where they were curled up between them so Jemma could feel the solid weight of Fitz’ body against hers all the way down. The hand curved behind his neck fidgeted, her thumb rubbing below his ear, fingers in the short, soft hair at his nape, unconsciously moving in time with the soft music from Fitz’ playlist. 

The anxiety was easing, chased away by Jemma’s medication, and she could feel her body beginning to loosen as she lay there tangled with Fitz. “Is that- we’re okay, right?” 

He pressed himself to her more fully, hoping that his proximity would help soothe her, and pressed his lips to hers once more. He didn’t push for more than this, just alternating nuzzling her and brushing his mouth against hers in achingly soft strokes. 

“We’re more than okay, I promise. Take as many reminders as ye need, lass.” 

With that, he pressed his forehead more firmly to hers, and wrapping his arm around her waist, hauled her in close to him. It had happened in a surprisingly short amount of time, but this girl and protecting her had become his entire focus; if he’d been thinking of it from a purely rational standpoint, he would have been terrified. But for the first time in his life, he wasn’t thinking rationally in even the vaguest sense of the word. 

And somehow, someway, holding her like this felt perfectly natural, and for once in his life, Leo Fitz was content to not question something.


	7. Chapter 7

Jemma slipped away from him, but she didn’t go far. Fitz’ body heat was already warming up their little bubble under the covers, the drugs were easing her nerves, Fitz’ playlist was filling what had been almost oppressive silence behind their soft conversations. Jemma felt like maybe she could sleep.

 

She laid her head on his shoulder, curled trustingly against Fitz, and closed her eyes to let all those feelings wash over and through her. With all of that plus the gentle attentions of his mouth on hers, Jemma drifted off and knew nothing for quite some time.

 

Fitz felt himself relax when he realized she had finally fallen asleep, and he closed his eyes as well, focusing in on the feeling of her body slowly relaxing into him. He found himself drifting in and out of consciousness, waking every few minutes whenever Jemma stirred, ready to jump and get whatever she might need or even want.

 

Eventually, Fitz quit on trying to sleep again and instead went trolling through his cell phone, looking for campus news. Both Jenkins and Kennedy had sent him texts saying that it was going around that something had happened between Fitz and Harris, but no one seemed to know why there’d been a fight; Jemma’s name had miraculously been kept out of it. He felt a weight come off his shoulders at knowing that the campus gossips wouldn’t be after her quite yet. However, his relief was short lived when he read a second message from Jenkins that said no one had seen hide nor hair of Harris since Thursday night.

 

That couldn’t bode well.

 

Fitz had a brief, foolish flash of hope that Harris would fade into the background, content to take his licks and then move on. But the fact was, Fitz knew better than that. James Harris, as long as you hadn’t crossed him, could be a decent guy, kind even; however, those who did cross him soon found themselves regretting whatever they’d done to upset him. He shuddered a bit thinking about what he’d done to a second year student who had dared question his adherence to lab policy. Long story short, it hadn’t been pretty.

 

Fitz gave a small, involuntary shudder at the thought before he put his phone away and snuggled back up to Jemma in an attempt to get a few more hours of sleep.

 

Hours later, Jemma finally stirred, waking to find Fitz wrapped around her, limbs impossibly tangled, her face pressed in against his shoulder. “Fitz?” she whispered, trying to tell if he was awake or still sleeping. She suspected asleep, given the lax weight of his arms around her, but she wasn’t sure. Hesitantly shifting, she rolled her shoulders to ease some of the stiffness from them, finally feeling a little more human and normal than before.

 

Getting a decent amount of solid sleep had worked wonders for her mental state.

 

Fitz woke from his light sleep when he felt her shift in his arms, and he cracked an eye to assess her. He was worried that she’d still feel off-kilter, and was on the alert for anything that might be troubling her. She seemed peaceful enough, and he felt himself relax as he rolled back the slightest bit to give her some space. He covered his mouth as he yawned then stretched and looked at her.

 

“Hey, Jem. Ye feelin’ any better?”

 

Jemma did a bit of stretching of her own, sitting up and pulling her arms up over her head to bend back until there was a faint popping noise from her back. At his soft question, she looked back at him over her shoulder and nodded, “Much. I tend to forget that everything is worse when it’s late at night and I’m tired. One of these days I’ll stop being so stubborn and just take the medication instead of trying to tough it out on my own.”

 

Her expression slid into a soft smile at the sight of him stretched out in her bed, tucked under her old quilt, feeling a rush of gratitude for everything he’d done for her in the past day or two.

 

If it hadn’t been for the kisses last night and cuddling together in bed, she wouldn’t have done it, but she crawled up over his body and carefully stretched out on top of him, her head comfortably snuggled under Fitz’ chin. “I know I said it before, but thank you. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been here.”

 

His arms came around her automatically, holding her close to his chest to comfort her, even as a chill ran through him at the thought of Jemma walking the streets alone. In the state she’d been in Friday morning, she’d have been as vulnerable as she’d been with Harris, if not more so. Fitz pushed the idea away, focusing on rubbing his hands up and down her back instead.

 

He thought about repeating what he’d said earlier, that it wasn’t a problem in the least, that he’d do it over again, but the words died in his throat. They just seemed wrong, all wrong, too trite for what was going on here between them. It took him a moment, but he eventually found something he was comfortable with.

 

“I’m glad ye though’ t’ call me, Jemma.” He brought a hand under her chin and encouraged her to look up, wanting to see her face. “I like tha’ ye trust me tha’ much.” That said, he leaned forward to kiss her, nearly perfectly content in the moment.

 

“I couldn’t have trusted anyone else,” she said softly, settling back in. This quiet weekend was exactly what Jemma needed right now. Nowhere to be, no demands, just Fitz and time to try and rebalance herself before going back to classes on Monday.

 

~*~

 

Four days later, Jemma was thankful for the time she’d gotten. Classes and labs were driving her mad, much less the walks across campus between them. Fitz had been sticking as close as he could, but they didn’t have the same schedule. They shared four classes and labs, but the other three she was on her own. He’d been late to his own classes the first two days, choosing to walk her to hers first, but she’d shooed him off after that, not wanting to cause him more trouble.

 

Of course, she’d come to regret it the first time she’d run into Harris. Jemma hadn’t even realized he was near, scurrying between buildings to get to a class, until she felt someone behind her and turned to find him there. She’d nearly screamed. Instead she’d hitched her backpack up and run.

 

It had happened three more times - enough that Jemma knew he was deliberately tormenting her, even if he hadn’t touched her again.

 

That left her here, arriving far too early for one of the classes she shared with Fitz, sitting in an unaccustomed seat on the far side of the classroom. She’d deliberately put herself in a position where she could watch the door and no one could sneak up on her easily, her bag left in the seat next to her to discourage anyone from sitting there.

 

She was shaking and rattled, her fingers trembling and skin pale, but she managed to text Fitz to let him know she wasn’t meeting him for coffee before class this time. He was already worried enough without her standing him up.

 

Fitz, Leo (3:22 PM): don’t worry about meeting me

Fitz, Leo (3:22 PM): i’m at class already

 

He frowned at his phone as he read her messages, worry gnawing at his gut even as he stood in line waiting for their usual order. He hurriedly tapped out a response.

 

Simmons, J (3:24 PM): Getting our coffee to go. I’ll see you soon.

 

As soon as the barista put their order on the counter, Fitz grabbed the two paper cups and hustled across campus. He was entirely heedless of traffic signals, and was nearly hit twice in the process of trying to get to Jemma.

 

He forced himself to calmly walk into the lecture hall, but when he didn’t see her in their usual spot his heart began to race. He scanned the faces of the students who were already there, the hall having filled despite there being another fifteen minutes until class started, looking for her. He was beginning to feel desperate when he spotted her familiar brown tresses on the other side of the hall and the knot that had become his stomach released as relief flooded through him. He stayed as calm as possible and made his way across the space, taking the stairs up to her row two at a time. Fitz waited for her to shift her bag out of the seat next to her, and slipped past her knees before he passed Jemma her latte and took a seat himself.

 

He took a moment to sip his drink and let his left hand drift across the steel arm of the chair to rest on her knee, waiting to calm himself a bit more before speaking.

 

“Are ye goin’ t’ tell me wha’s happenin’ here, lass, o’ am I goin’ t’ be left t’ puzzle it out myself?” For as much as he tried to keep his tone gentle, notes of nervousness and fear still came through, making Fitz wince. He didn’t want her worrying about him at all; if she worried about him, he feared she’d shut down and shut him out, something he didn’t want to happen in the least.

 

Jemma hadn’t seen Fitz when he first came in, lost in a group of people all coming through the door at once, but spied him as he crossed the front of the room to come up the stairs near her. A little of the panic eased at his presence, but there was enough left that she had to fight to shove it down as he bounded up the stairs in his hurry.

 

If he knew how upset she was, he might make the connection that it wasn’t just general anxiety, but that Harris was stalking her, and the last thing she wanted was another confrontation between them. Fitz would get in trouble for certain, and she’d have to tell what happened to start this whole mess. She shuddered at the thought, thankfully out of his line of sight as he settled into the seat next to her.

 

Taking the coffee, grateful for the warmth and something to do with her fidgeting hands, Jemma started to curl both around the cup when his hand landed on her knee. She looked at it, then over at him when he started talking, and her heart lurched. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him. Biting her lip, she carefully chose what to say, not wanting to lie.

 

Somehow she thought he might better forgive her for dissembling before he would lying outright.

 

“I don’t… people… It makes me nervous when people get too close, now,” Jemma whispered, barely audible over the hubbub of the lecture hall. “Someone came up behind me and I didn’t know he was there, and I just…” She tangled her fingers with Fitz at her knee, her palm laid over the back of his hand and squeezing tight. “I panicked. This was closer than trying to get to the cafe.”

 

Fitz felt his eyes narrow a bit as he listened to her, sensing something was off but unsure what it was exactly. He was tempted to say something, but decided against it. Jemma was clearly still a bit shaken, and he didn’t want to make it worse, not right before class. It could wait for the time  being. Instead, he adjusted his grip on her so he could lace their fingers together, and gave her hand a little squeeze.

 

“I really wish ye’d le’ me walk ye t’ class, Jemma.” The statement is flat, his voice pitched low so others around them couldn’t hear their conversation. He brushed his thumb along the side of her hand, more so to calm himself than her. “If only for my own peace o’ mind, if no’ yer own.”

 

“Fitz… you’re already disrupting your entire life for me,” Jemma frowned. Finals were next week and he was spending every free moment of his time with her. They were studying together, too conscientious to completely slack off, but he’d been so focused on her, she worried that he wasn’t concentrating in his classes when she wasn’t there.

 

Someone turned to peer back at them curiously and she lowered her voice. “You can’t be with me all the time,” Jemma murmured. “Let’s just get through finals, okay? It’ll be better when I don’t have to worry about classes for awhile.”

 

Fitz nodded cautiously, displeased that she wouldn’t let him walk her to and from class, but ultimately understanding why she wanted it that way. Besides, he couldn’t follow her everywhere, he supposed. She had to live her own life, and Fitz couldn’t solve every problem for her, try as he might. He sighed as he accepted that he’d have to dial it back, reclaiming his hand to take out his laptop as he did so.

 

He powered up, doing his best to balance everything one-handed, as he tried to broker a solution they could both live with. “Okay, bu’ le’s study off campus from now on, yeah? I think we coul’ both do wit’ a change in scenery.”

 

She frowned when he withdrew his hand, but sighed and busied herself with her own books and laptop, juggling everything along with the latte he’d brought her. Everything felt like it was a step forward and two back this week, an ungainly little dance between them she and Fitz tried to navigate their way from friends to more while Jemma struggled with the aftershocks of Harris’ attack and the renewed anxiety from his reappearance.

 

The gossip had come and gone, and while everyone seemed to know that Fitz and Harris had an altercation, no one knew it was because of Jemma. It was the one time when being FitzSimmons had come in handy. No one had made a connection between Jemma and Harris, because they thought Jemma had been with Fitz all along.

 

Still, it made her nervous, seeing the occasional stares. Someone was going to see Harris near her at some point - SciTech wasn’t that big a place, and he wasn’t being that careful. He couldn’t get her alone anywhere, because Jemma was never going anywhere that could happen, even if she had to go the long way around to get some places.

 

For now though, she had to get through this class. Jemma bit her lip at the reminder, and cut her eyes over to Fitz, bumping his arm with her elbow. “The public library? I’ve never been in there. Never needed to, with the one here.”

 

Fitz stopped to consider her suggestion. It was a few blocks from campus, without being too far from their dorms, and since most of the SciTech students found everything they needed in the campus library, they’d likely be left alone. He nodded in agreement as he opened up his notes folder and turned toward her. “Tha’ works for me. I’s no’ far from the diner, either. We coul’ grab dinner before o’ after, too.”

 

He turned his attention to the front of the room once more when he noticed that the Professor Jimenez was getting ready to begin his lecture. “Bu’ we walk together, Jemma. A’ leas’ give me tha’,” he whispered to her from the corner of his mouth, not wanting to disturb the other students around him.

 

Jemma looked over at him, her chest aching at the expression on his face. He really was worried about her. “Okay,” she agreed immediately. “I’ll need to stop back at my dorm first, though.” Tipping her head, Jemma rubbed her cheek against Fitz’ shoulder, a brief and affectionate gesture meant to reassure him that she didn’t mind his protectiveness.

 

After that, she straightened to focus on the lecture, her trembling anxiety fading into a faint buzz of apprehension as the hours passed and she was left alone to listen to the professor.

 

When Jimenez wrapped things up for the day, Jemma was slow to pack her things up, willing to let the class clear out before she tried to go anywhere. She could feel Fitz watching her as she put things into her bag, being more anal-retentive about where things went than she normally would.

 

Fitz fought his urge to fidget as he waited for her to pack up after class. All he really wanted now, knowing that she was uncomfortable, was to get off campus and try to put her back at ease.

 

It had been so easy over the weekend. They had been able to cuddle and touch and reassure each other as they needed it, but now… now reality had intruded on them. They had classes to attend, labs to complete, and they very well wouldn’t let him move into her dorm. Although, Fitz thought, if her roommate kept staying at her boyfriend’s, he might be able to get away with it, if Jemma let him.

 

Fitz stood when she did, and with a gentle hand on her back, guided her out of the room. He dropped his hand as soon as they were outside in favor of brushing it against her fingertips, hoping she’d take the hint and grasp his hand. He had never been this needy, this dependant on touching other people, but lately he’d been overwhelmed by the need to be near her. It eased him, and in truth, he didn’t much feel like questioning it.

 

As they neared her dorm, he thought he caught sight of someone ducking behind a large tree, and he was suddenly on alert. He opened his mouth to say something to her, but glancing over and seeing her look of relative calm, thought better of it. She’d been stressed enough; there was no need for him to make it worse.

 

She slid her hand into his, stepping in a little closer to Fitz’ side as they crossed the campus to her dorm. At one point she thought she saw his posture change, suddenly more alert, but when Jemma looked over at him questioningly, there was nothing. _Great_ , she thought to herself, _now I’m imagining that Fitz is just as nervous as I am._

 

Once they got upstairs to her dorm, the door latched and locked behind them, Jemma dropped her backpack on the table and sighed. She glanced over her shoulder at Fitz, then at the clock and back at him. “We don’t have to leave for the library right away, do we? Or do you have to go by your dorm first, too?”

 

"No, Jem, take yer time. I have everythin' I need, so I'm se' for a bit."

 

He dropped his own bag next to the sofa before flopping into the cushions himself.  He'd grown more comfortable in her space in the short span of one weekend, and it showed in the way he sprawled there, eyes sliding shut as he relaxed.

 

Jemma smiled at his reassurance and ran her fingers through his curls as she passed behind the couch and into her room. It was becoming a habit - she liked the texture of them and the affection behind the gesture, not to mention the way he always leaned into the touch, especially if she dragged her nails lightly over his scalp.

 

She fetched two textbooks from her desk and shoved them into her already overburdened backpack before circling the sofa and sitting at his side. The security of being locked into her own space was letting her recharge a little, giving Jemma time to prepare for the trip out to the library.

 

Fitz cracked an eye when he felt the cushions dip. Jemma was looking more like her usual self; it was remarkable what being in a familiar environment could do for nerves. He reached for her without thinking, wanting to hold her for a bit. He nuzzled into her hair, mumbling,  "Can we get somethin' t' eat before we start studyin'? I skipped lunch today."

 

His stomach growled then as if to emphasize his point, and Fitz felt himself blush. He forced himself to sit up and open his eyes, and glanced down at her. "I promise t' treat," he told her, eyes pleading just the tiniest bit.

 

“Can’t I just make something?” Jemma drew away from him before he had a chance to stop her, going to the kitchen and looking in her fridge then the freezer. Given that she hadn’t been eating much, there was still a fair amount in there. Frozen marinara from the batch she’d made a couple weeks ago, some pasta and the chicken she’d already defrosted… there was enough salad left over from yesterday, and garlic bread was easy enough to make. “Is pasta okay?”

 

Jemma hadn’t ever cooked for him outside of the cookies and other baked goods she’d used to bribe him and his roommates for various favors over the past few months. She stuck her head out around the corner to look at him, “Fitz?”

 

Fitz was sitting up, interest piqued by food. He had wanted to take her out, but there would be other opportunities; at the moment, his stomach only cared about being fed.

 

“Tha’s fine,” he replied, pushing off the sofa and making his way into the kitchen. “Is there anythin’ ye need me t’ do?” He was more than happy to do whatever she asked of him, and in truth, Fitz thought they could use a bit more downtime.

 

“Can you put that in the microwave for two minutes and bring it back to me?” Jemma handed him the container of frozen marinara. The kitchen in the dorm was so cramped that her and Sonja had put the microwave out in the dining area rather than lose any more counter space. “Other than that, no. There’s not enough room in here for both of us and there’s really not much to do.”

 

By the time the requested two minutes had passed, Jemma had three pans on the stove - one with salted water for the pasta, one waiting for the sauce, and a third heating a thin layer of oil and garlic to cook the chicken. She’d also turned the oven on to warm to make the garlic bread.

 

When he handed her back the partially defrosted sauce, she traded him for a small container from the fridge containing sliced fruit. “Here. Take this, so you don’t pester me while I’m cooking,” Jemma said with a smile. She’d learned about Fitz’ demanding stomach during their many long hours in the lab. When it wanted something, Fitz could be incredibly irritating until it was satisfied.

 

She’d started compensating for his habit of getting hungry in the middle of her experiments by stashing bags of popcorn and pretzels, packets of candy, and other nibbly foods in a cabinet in the lab.

 

He took the fruit with a sheepish grin, and after dragging over one of the chairs stationed at the small table, took a seat in the doorway of the kitchen to watch her work and keep her company. He picked out a sliced strawberry, and popped it in his mouth, chewing in silence as he watched her work, moving smoothly between each task as if it were nothing at all. Fitz wasn’t surprised, not in the least, since he frequently saw her do the same while working in the lab.

 

That wasn’t the only holdover from the lab he realized as he picked out a piece of cantaloupe to nibble on next. The lass had a knack for taking care of him, and while it pleased Fitz to no end, it frustrated him a bit as well. She always seemed to know what to do while he struggled with ways to help her, particularly with what had just happened. He still feared that nothing he did was right or beneficial, and it gnawed at him nearly constantly.

 

“Wha’ did ye think o’ Jimenez today?” He threw the question out there not only to break the silence, but also to take his mind off of Harris and what had happened. That horrific weekend was over with; Jemma clearly wanted to move past it, and he was more than happy to oblige her. As for Harris, if the bloke had anything planned, Fitz hadn’t caught wind of it, and he certainly couldn’t keep jumping at shadows. “I’m no’ sure if we’re jus’ too far ahead o’ what, but he dinnae seem t’ cover anythin’ new today. I’m tempted t’ start skivin’ off. I’ve other finals tha’ need more focus than his.”

 

Jemma glanced over at him and shrugged before returning her attention to the chicken she was slicing before sliding the lot into the pan of hot oil and garlic. She gave the sauce a stir and turned up the heat on the other burner before pulling out the last few pieces of a loaf of bread.

 

“You might be right, but I don’t feel comfortable just skipping the classes. Just my luck he’ll throw something in that I honestly don’t know and it’ll be on the exam,” she sighed. Jimenez specialized in biomedical engineering, which was how they’d both ended up in the class in the first place. Some of what he’d taught had been invaluable, but much of it was repetitive for them both.

 

She busied herself doctoring the bread with butter and garlic before sliding it into the oven. Jemma went to grab the leftover salad from the fridge and reached out to steal a bit of pineapple from Fitz’ bowl while she was over there. “I think the only class I’m really worried about is Dr. Ziyadh’s. That theoretical applied chemistry section he presented last month was terrible. Be glad you didn’t have to sit through that. I don’t even know how to properly study for a theoretical unit,” she said, making a face as she glanced over the pots and pans.

 

Giving the sauce and chicken a stir, she added the pasta to the boiling water and turned back to him. “Is there anything you’re especially worried about that we could be spending more time studying?”

 

Fitz gave her a deadpan look and extended the bowl back towards her in invitation. He’d made sure to leave her the pineapple, and a few of the strawberries, since seemed to favor those.

 

“Have ye met me? Seriously, when’s th’ last time ye saw me worry about anythin’?” He plucked out the last piece of melon and chewed it thoughtfully. The look Jemma was giving him told him she was less than pleased with his initial response, and although he wouldn’t lie to her, he could be a bit more attentive in a few of his classes, he supposed.

 

“I’m a mite worried about th’ Advanced Weapons Engineering final. No’ th’ subject matter,” he clarified, wanting to protect his pride, “bu’ I hear tha’ Rus makes her finals extra difficul’. She’s given me high marks all term, bu’ still. I dinnae wan’ t’ trip up now.”

 

Jemma sighed and shook her head. She could only dream of being so flippant about her schoolwork and still getting the grades Fitz got. Unlike him, if Jemma didn’t study she’d likely pass, but certainly not with the averages that she demanded of herself. If they hadn’t already become friends by the time she’d realized just how little Fitz actually studied, she might have hated him. A little.

 

She glanced over at Fitz and took another bit of fruit, but most of her attention was focused on their dinner. “Are you kidding? Professor Rus loves you. There’s no way you’re going to fail that exam.”

 

Fitz chuckled around the last bite of fruit in his mouth as he stood to place the now-empty container in the sink. That done, he propped a hip against the counter, arms folded across his chest, and watched her as she finished preparing their meal.

 

“Correction: _loved_. Professor Rus _loved_ me, tha’ is, until Jenkins an’ I nearly blew up her lab wit’ tha’ energy-absorption prototype.” Jemma shot him a dark look, and he grew defensive. “I said ‘nearly,’ righ’? We followed proper protocols an’ everythin’... th’ battery pack was a little dodgy, i’s all. Tha’ was all Jenkins, in case ye were wonderin’.” He didn’t quite like the disbelieving lift to her brows, but ignored it. He knew a losing battle when he saw one.

 

Instead, he inched closer to the stove top, trying to get a better look at what she was doing. “I’ smells fantastic, Jemma,” he told her honestly. His stomach grumbled a bit as though to support his statement. “Are we almos’ ready t’ eat?” He didn’t actually wait for her to respond, instead he went ahead and began pulling plates and cups and flatware, and went about setting the table for the two of them.

 

Jemma knew better than to entirely believe Fitz’ stories, especially when they involved Jenkins and Kennedy. While Fitz was typically fairly well-behaved in the lab, she’d seen him work with those two and they lured him down less sensible roads than the ones she insisted on when they were working. Thankfully though, he changed the subject and she nodded as he started gathering things from her cabinets.

 

“Another few minutes for the pasta to finish and everything will be ready,” she said, chuckling when his face lit up. Jemma grabbed a pair of tongs to pull the garlic bread out, setting it on another plate for him to take, then the sauce and chicken and salad. By then the pasta was done and she had to nudge Fitz out of her way. “Shoo. Out of my kitchen. I can finish this just fine without your help.”

 

Fitz pouted a bit but did as she asked, setting the rest of the plates on the table and grabbing a seat. Thankfully, Jemma wasn’t far behind him, and soon enough they were able to tuck in on what was a rather delicious meal. They’d stuck to take out over the weekend, so Fitz hadn’t realized just how good a cook Jemma was.

 

“Chris’, Jemma, tha’s fantastic. I may jus’ start buyin’ ye groceries an’ asking ye t’ cook for me.”

 

She blushed at the compliment, but shrugged and waved him off. “It’s just pasta, it’s not like it’s that complicated.” Jemma was selfishly glad that he’d let her cook so she didn’t have to leave the dorm yet, and that he liked what she’d made. “Thank you though,” she added, realizing she was being rude.

 

Jemma managed to eat more of the pasta than she had any of the other meals she’d had this week. Not being out and about and feeling twitchy about the other people in the room helped immensely. “Maybe I should go grocery shopping after the library. Stop trying to eat in the cafeteria for awhile,” she said softly.

 

The look of satisfaction on his face was quickly replaced by a perplexed frown as he processed her words. He turned them over in his mind as he took her in; she looked as though she’d drawn in on herself, voice soft and almost afraid. She must have been forcing herself to eat in public again, trying to acclimate herself to being around people. He understood why she’d feel a need to do so. As much as he wanted to always be around for her, their schedules didn’t allow for it. He didn’t want to make himself a nuisance either, always intruding on her if she needed personal time and space.

 

He began nodding before speaking, still gathering his thoughts. “Tha’s fine with me. I’s no’ like the grocer is all tha’ far from th’ library.” He looked at her from across the table, gaze steady as he watched her, searching for any reaction. “Ye know, we dinnae have t’ go t’ th’ library, if ye’re anxious about bein’ around people. We could study here jus’ as easily.”

 

Her lips pressed together, biting back the instinctive urge to say yes and just stay home with Fitz. The problem was, Jemma was afraid that if she totally gave in to her fears, she’d never get over them. It took a bit of time for her to fight it down, and then shake her head. “No. No, Leo. I can’t hide in here forever,” she explained, her voice dropping to a whisper before she added, “I can’t let him win.”

 

Fitz nodded in understanding and glanced at the clock. “All righ’ lass. Le’s clean this up then an’ get goin’. Th’ public library is only open for another three hours or so. We’ll grab th’ groceries on th’ way home.”

 

He pushed away from the table and quickly began picking up plates and carrying them to the kitchen. He took charge of the cleaning, much as he did in the lab, and the task was done in a matter of no time. He tugged the tea towel from Jemma shoulder, and drying his hands, said, “Grab yer bag an’ le’s go. We should be able t’ ge’ two hours o’ good work in before they close.”

 

He left the towel hanging over the oven door and went to tug on his trainers before gathering up his bag. He leaned against the door, tapping out a quick message to Kennedy to see if they needed groceries of their own, and waited for Jemma.

 


	8. Chapter 8

And thus began their routine for the next several days. They’d meet at Jemma’s dorm, or Fitz would walk her there, after classes. Jemma would cook dinner and they’d go off to the public library to study. After the first two days of not seeing a soul from SciTech - not entirely surprising, as the public library was nowhere near as extensive as the Academy’s - Jemma began to relax, even if she did always make sure they were at a corner table where she could sit with her back to a wall. 

Except she’d let down her guard far, far too soon. Jemma should have known better. 

Fitz had excused himself to go to the men’s room, and Jemma had thought she was safe. Caught up in her reading, she thought it was Fitz coming back to the table when someone slid into the chair next to her. When she looked up though, it wasn’t Fitz, but Harris. She wanted to scream bloody murder, but she didn’t want to make a scene either. Her skin paled, beads of sweat lining up at her hairline almost immediately when he reached out to lay his hand on her thigh under the table, resting intimately high, his fingers curling in far too close to places his hands should never, ever be. 

Her textbook fell onto the table with a heavy thump, her fingers clamped around the edge of the table. “Get. Your. Hand. Off. Of. Me,” Jemma gritted out, trying to steel her voice into firmness instead of coming out as shaky as she felt. She had to get him to leave before Fitz came back. He’d be furious. And even without that, Jemma just wanted him gone. 

Fitz walked back to what had quickly become their usual study table with his head down, checking his phone for the time. They had another half hour before the library closed, which should be just enough time for them to go over Jimenez’ latest notes before heading back to campus. It was Friday night, and he wondered if Jemma would let him spend the night at hers, instead of sending him home as she’d been doing since Sunday. A bit of hope welled in his chest at the thought of what they were building toward, and the corners of his mouth pulled upward as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. 

Any thought of hope vanished, however, when he turned a sharp corner and saw who was sitting, practically on top of Jemma, at their table. 

James Harris had managed to crawl out of whatever hole he’d been hiding in, and had found his way to Jemma yet again. 

“TH’ FUCK DID I TELL YE?!” It didn’t even occur to Fitz to modulate his volume or his language. No, his world had narrowed to the older cadet’s face, which he was pleased to note, still had not properly healed. Good, he thought, he’ll ge’ t’ hurt twice. In the time it took him to think that, Fitz had crossed to the table, and putting his hand squarely below Harris’ neck, tilted him backwards out of his chair. The short distance between the table and the wall meant that Fitz could pin him with relative ease, but he still maintained a grip on his collar, effectively keeping him in place. 

“I TOLD YE THA’ YE’RE NO’ T’ GO NEAR HER AGAIN!” 

He punctuated the statement by bringing his fist sharply across the other boy’s jaw, causing his head to snap back and hit the wall with a painful-sounding crack. Fitz pulled back, aiming for Harris’ nose this time, only to feel his arm be tugged back even further; Fitz glanced over his shoulder to see an aging security guard, his hand firmly wrapped around Fitz’ wrist. 

That was all of the distraction Harris needed, and while Fitz was busy trying to yank himself away from the guard, he twisted free and landed a blow of his own to Fitz’ gut. From there it descended into utter chaos, with the security guard running to call for the police while the boys grappled on the floor, exchanging blows and sending papers flying. 

Jemma scrambled out of the way as soon as Harris moved his hand, although she suddenly wasn’t sure what frightened her more - Harris, or the pure fury that had twisted Fitz’ face into someone she didn’t recognize at all. She’d known that he’d already gone after Harris once before, but somehow she hadn’t imagined it like this. 

Backing up hard against the wall, she nearly jumped out of her skin when someone took her arm, but it was just one of the librarians, a gentle, older woman, who spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the melee, “Come with me, young lady. You don’t need to see this.” Not thinking about the consequences of Fitz’ actions, or that the police would be called, Jemma let the woman lead her away, only to feel more and more panicked as she drew further away and reality sank in. 

Harris had found her. 

Fitz had attacked him again. 

He could be expelled. 

Fitz was capable of beating the hell out of someone when he was angry. 

Jemma hadn’t ever questioned his behavior toward her, had never needed to, but right at that moment, tangled in emotions and shock and fear, she wasn’t sure. What if she made him angry one day? 

She felt her stomach twist and was suddenly afraid she was going to vomit. The front door was closer than the ladies room at that point, and that’s where Jemma ran. Only once she got outside, emptying her stomach into one of the planters near the door, Jemma didn’t stop running. 

Thinking she’d head back to campus, she started in that direction, but it didn’t take long before everything became too much. Looking over her shoulder every few seconds. Jumping at each little noise. The roil of her stomach as the nervous reaction failed to ease once she’d removed herself from the situation. If anything, each step she took made it all worse. 

A few blocks from the library, and still a distance from campus, Jemma found herself huddled in an alley, laughing through tears as she realized just how much this moment was like the morning she’d called Fitz to save her. Only now who was she supposed to call? 

If she even could - her phone and her bag were still in the library. She only had a little bit of cash in her pocket, not enough to get a cab back to campus if she wanted. Cutting through the alley brought her to a little side street she didn’t recognize, and a small, out of the way cafe. Slipping silently through the door, Jemma found a secluded booth and slipped into it. Maybe she’d buy herself enough time to calm down and settle enough to make it the rest of the way home. 

Fitz sat against the wall, pinned in place by the eyes of two rather surly looking members of Boston’s police force. 

“Look, kid,” one of the senior officers began, trying to pin him with sympathetic eyes in the hope of getting him to talk, “you’re in serious trouble. According to the librarians, you started one hell of a fight on municipal property, and you did a number on the other guy. If he decides to press charges, you’re going to jail.”

Fitz shot a look to where Harris sat further down the wall. He, too, was stony-faced and hadn’t cooperated with the officer’s questions. As long as Harris kept his mouth shut, Fitz would be fine. 

“Look, you’re alone in a foreign country. Your mom and dad can’t bail you out here. You’ve got no other option than to talk--”

“What exactly is the meaning of this?”

Fitz jerked at the clipped English accent, and peered around the officer to see who had come in. He’d never been happier to see Agent Anne Weaver in his life, although given her expression, she was less than pleased to have been summoned off SciTech’s campus for a scuffle between cadets. Still, he couldn’t help the little smirk that grew on his face as he watched her work over the police officers. 

Before long she was gesturing for him to get off the wall and gather his belongings. Fitz worked quickly, and when he noticed that Jemma had left her things as well, he gathered those, too. Once they were set, Weaver marched them out, one on either side of her, and into a S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV. 

A few hours later, Jemma wasn’t quite sure what to do. The woman behind the counter at the cafe had been eyeing her for some time now, clearly aware that something was wrong. Jemma had nursed several cups of tea over the time she’d sat here, but she had nothing with her to read, no way of contacting anyone. Thanks to the magic of cell phones, she’d never felt the need to memorize anyone’s number, and she was regretting that now. It wasn’t as if SHIELD academy was in the phone book, either. 

The clock on the wall said it was edging toward 10pm, and Jemma could only assume that was closing time as the clerk bustled about wiping down tables and giving her an irritated side eye. When the shop door clicked open and a twenty-something black guy walked in, hands shoved into the pockets of a dark hoodie and looking nervous, the clerk jerked back and stammered, “Can I help you?” 

Jemma scowled at the woman for making such an obvious assumption, but slumped down into the booth. What in hell was Jenkins doing here? 

The older cadet pulled out a cell phone and started to show the woman something on it, Jemma could only assume it was a photo, but her motion had caught Jenkins’ attention and his dark eyes zeroed in on her. “Never mind. I just found her.” 

Ignoring the clerk from that point, Jenkins made his way to Jemma’s booth and slowly slid in across from her, looking at her with an odd expression. If she didn’t know better, Jemma would think it was wariness. “What are you doing here, Jenkins?” 

“Looking for you. Fitz was beside himself when Weaver picked him and Harris up from the police station and he realized no one knew where you were.” Jenkins eyed her, noting the pale skin and too-dark eyes. 

“You okay?” 

“No,” Jemma said simply. “I just want to go home.” She glanced over at the clerk, who she suspected was just waiting for Jenkins to make a wrong move so she could call the cops. “I don’t suppose you brought your car?” 

Jenkins followed Jemma’s gaze over to the woman and scowled, muttering under his breath. “It’s a few blocks away. The three of us split up to look for you. Will you be alright for a few while I go get it? 10 minutes, tops. I’ll call and let Fitz and Kennedy know you’re here, so they can stop looking.” 

Jemma’s stomach turned at being confined in a car with the three men, but getting home was more important. She’d deal. If she’d been in a better headspace she’d have known none of them would hurt her, but she wasn’t entirely herself, her frazzled mind coming up with terrible scenarios of what might happen. “Yeah, I’ll be here. I’ll wait outside so you don’t have to come back in. I think she’s going to kick me out of here shortly anyway, so she can lock up.” 

The older cadet frowned. “C’mon. Walk with me then. You shouldn’t be on your own right now.” He slid out of the booth and held out a hand to her, only for Jemma to ignore it and scurry past him, her shoulders hunched like she was braced to be hit. Frowning, he followed her out the door, glancing back at the clerk, who’d snatched a phone out already. She saw him looking and put it down, but he’d bet there was about to be more trouble with the police if he didn’t hurry up and get Jemma out of here. 

He pulled his phone out to text Fitz and Kennedy as they walked, Jenkins watching the area around them warily as he led her to the car. 

Fitz felt relief flood him as he read Jenkins’ text. He had been imagining all kinds of scenarios where Harris had found her first, or something even worse had befallen her. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and took off at a jog back to where they’d parked Jenkin’s car. 

He was the first one back, and paced restlessly along the sidewalk as he waited for any sign of Jenkins or Jemma. 

He spotted Jemma first, walking a few paces ahead of his roommate, head down and arms crossed protectively over her chest. He ran toward her, ready to wrap her up in a monstrous hug, but pulled up short when he saw her face. She looked more than scared, she seemed downright haunted, and she was looking at him as if she had never even seen him before. Fitz recoiled, hurt by the look in her eyes, and his brain began to work overtime to explain it. 

Then it dawned on him.

She’d seen him attack Harris. 

Sure, Jemma had seen small bouts of his famed Scottish temper, little flare ups when things weren’t going right in the lab, but she likely hadn’t been expecting him to react the way he’d had to seeing Harris corner her. Hell, he hadn’t even expected it. Despite what had happened in the past ten days, Fitz didn’t make it a habit to beat the tar out of his peers. 

“Jemma, lass, I dinnae know wha’ t’ say-” 

Fitz stumbled over his words, desperate for her to understand what had been going through his head, or rather, the lack of rational thought that had been in his head at the time. Seeing her cornered had not only filled him with rage, but had scared him, too. She was precious beyond words to him, his first real friend, and the idea of her being hurt hit him in a way he couldn’t have anticipated. 

He opened his mouth to try again when Kennedy finally returned. “All right, we all here? Good. Let’s get back to campus. I don’t even want to know what Weaver’ll do if she finds out Fitz ignored a direct order right after she picked him up.”

Jemma’s hazel eyes turned on Fitz, a strange mix of sadness and fear and hurt lurking in them. Hadn’t he already done enough for one day without getting Agent Weaver mad at him, too? 

The older cadets claimed the front seats of the car, leaving her and Fitz in the back. Jemma huddled as close to the door as she could with the seatbelt buckled across her body, mind drifting and almost able to ignore the uncomfortable silence that fell in the car as soon as Jenkins and Kennedy realized there was something up between her and Fitz. 

Thankfully by car, the campus was only a few minutes away. Jemma felt Jenkins slow down to make the turn into the lot near their dorm, and corrected him. “Take me home, Jenkins. Please.” 

The other cadet glanced back at Fitz in the rear-view, one eyebrow quirked. Were they okay with taking Jemma back to her empty dorm and leaving her there? 

It tore at him that Jemma wouldn’t even look at him directly, instead glancing at him from the corner of her eye, clearly wary of him and uncomfortable being caught in close quarters. 

Fitz planted his teeth in his bottom lip and stared at the back of Jenkins’ head, determined not to let the hot, desperate feeling in his gut overwhelm him, or the tears that were pricking the corners of his eyes fall. 

He’d been thinking of her, of protecting her and keeping her safe, when he’d acted and it was to no avail. He’d lost her anyway, and he saw no clear way to get back to her. Fitz had to focus on his breathing, dangerously close to weeping at the thought that they had been so close to starting something, so, so close…

He met Jenkins’ gaze in the mirror and cleared his throat, hoping it would be enough to take the tears out of his voice. 

“Do whatever i’ is she asks. If she wants t’ go home tonigh’, take her home. She’s been through enough for one evenin’.”

He glanced down at his knees, noticing for the first time little specks of what appeared to be dried blood. He wondered, briefly, whether it was his or Harris’, and realized it didn’t really matter in the long run. Instead, he turned his head to look out the window, watching the campus buildings pass as Jenkins turned the car around and headed for Jemma’s dorm. 

The poorly hidden break in his voice was what finally caught Jemma’s attention, her eyes slanting toward him in the dark car. The streetlights flashing by only gave her glimpses of his face as he stared out the window and Jemma realized she’d managed to really hurt him with her own fears. Unsure of how to even begin to address what had happened, she sat awkwardly for a moment when Jenkins pulled up outside her dorm. 

No one seemed to want to say anything, so she broke the silence. “Thank you for coming to get me. I owe you cookies again,” Jemma offered to Jenkins and Kennedy. 

“You know our favorites,” Kennedy nodded. He fumbled in front of his seat for a moment and came up with Jemma’s phone and backpack. “You just let us know if Harris tries anything, even if he looks at you funny. Third time’s the charm right?” he teased, trying to get her to smile. 

It didn’t work. Jemma’s expression was stony and cold, all the usual warmth missing from her eyes as she planned what to do to Harris herself if he did anything else. Jemma slipped out of the car, closing the door behind her and stepping up onto the curb only to hear another door slam a moment after, nearly making her jump out of her skin. 

Jenkins pulled off, leaving Fitz standing there in the street with his hands shoved in his pockets, expression miserable. “Aren’t you going home?” Jemma asked quietly, her arms still curled around herself, trying to hold in the faint warmth of her body. 

He looked in her direction, but his gaze landed past her, focused on the door to her building and keeping her in his peripheral vision. His throat was tight with suppressed emotion, and he coughed once again to clear it so he could speak. 

“Yeah, bu’ only after I know ye’re inside an’ th’ door’s locked tight.” He leveled his gaze at her, wanting her to see that he was serious about that. “Look, Jem-” he cut himself off, suddenly unsure if she even wanted him using her first name anymore. 

“He’s still ou’ there. Weaver le’ him go, too. I couldnae live wit’ myself if… I jus’ need t’ know ye’re safe inside, okay?” 

He gestured toward the door, and once she started moving, Fitz followed her inside, careful to keep a few paces behind her so she didn’t feel crowded. 

Jemma bit her lip sharply, leaving a white imprint around where her teeth set into the delicate flesh. She didn’t argue with him though, torn between her nervousness and gratitude that he was still trying to protect her. It was only that Jemma wasn’t sure if Fitz could protect her from himself. 

She led the way silently up to her dorm, hesitating as she pulled out her key and unlocked the door. Jemma glanced back at him for just a moment, and braced herself for what she was about to do. She stepped through the door but left it open behind her, turning to look at him fully. There was still open fear in her expression but a hint of the strength that kept failing her lately was there too. “Come in, if you’re coming. If not… go on. I’ll lock up.” 

To say her actions shocked Fitz would have been understatement. He took a tentative step forward and was halfway across the threshold when he froze, his hands gripping the door frame tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. 

“Jemma, I- I cannae, ye dinnae-” He hung his head as the tears finally began to creep down his cheeks, his emotions finally getting the better of him. “There’s no way after tonigh’ ye wan’ me t’ follow ye inside.” He forced himself to meet her gaze so she could see his face, the pain and frustration and sorrow written plain. “Ye couldnae even look a’ me in th’ car, lass. Why in th’ world would ye invite me in now?”

He needed to know, needed to hear it wasn’t all for naught, before he took that final step into her dorm. 

Jemma’s eyes filled too, hating herself for hurting them both with her weakness and inability to overcome Harris’ attack. He’d scared her terribly, but she had to keep reminding herself this was Fitz. He wouldn’t hurt her. She had to believe that. 

“You think I don’t know when my panic is irrational?” she choked out, her arms curling around herself again. “You know I can’t control it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t tell. It only makes things worse because I know I’m being stupid and I can’t stop. You… all I could think was that you might get that angry with me some day. I want to believe you wouldn’t. I’m trying to tell myself it’s stupid and not true, but I’m not there yet.” 

Her voice lowered to a cracked whisper, her heart twisting with the rest of the insecurities and fears she’d been choking back this week, “If you don’t want to be here, then go. I’m sure you’ve better things to do than babysit some crazy biochemist who panics at imaginary threats every hour.” 

Fitz stepped the rest of the way through her door, closing it softly behind him. He held there, back pressed to the solid wood, as he considered her and tried to think of what to say. 

“I dinnae think ye’re crazy.” His voice was so soft in the darkness of her common room that it nearly sounded like a whisper. “An’ I always wan’ t’ be around ye, Jemma.” Without the extra light from the hallway it was hard to make out her eyes, but he sought them out anyway, wanting to have that connection with her. “I jus’ worry that ye dinnae always wan’ t’ be around me, an’ after tonigh’... well, I couldnae blame ye for givin’ me th’ boot.”

He peeled himself from the wood, feeling a tad more sure of himself as he pressed on. 

“An’ for th’ record, I cannae stan’ men tha’ use their fists on women an’ children. There’s a history…” He debated about telling her why, but decided it could wait another day and shook it off. “Tha’, an’ because i’ was ye he pu’ his hands on, are th’ reasons I reacted th’ way I did. I’s no excuse, I know, bu’ tha’s th’ truth of it.”

It might have been better that the lights were off, other than the small light over the stove that reflected dimly into the common area. She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the sincerity in his words. Fitz wasn’t as bad a liar as she was, but he still wasn’t great at it. Jemma thought she’d be able to tell if he was lying to her and she didn’t think he was now. 

Some of her tears slipped free, and Jemma pressed her lips together into a tight line to try and hold them back. “You were the only person here I knew I didn’t have to be afraid of, and now…” her breath hitched, and she wasn’t quite sure she was able to disguise the sob that followed it. “I don’t want to be afraid of you.” 

She took a step forward, her hands reaching for him before she caught herself and froze, unsure. Jemma had always thought fear to be a healthy emotion until she’d lost control of hers. Taking another shuddering breath, she fought down the panic as best she could, closing her eyes and aiming for him as she stepped forward.

Her hesitation was no more than half a heartbeat, but it was enough to frighten Fitz into thinking she had changed her mind. So, when she pressed forward, eyes screwed shut, he caught her gladly, drawing her into his chest to cradle her there. He rocked them both, his face buried in her hair and tears flowing more freely now. 

“I dinnae wan’ ye t’ be afraid o’ me either, lass. No’ a’ all.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I swear, Jemma, if ye tell me no more fightin’, no more fightin’. I’ll do whatever ye wan’, jus’ please dinnae ask me t’ walk away from ye.”

Even if she asked him to do so, Fitz wasn’t sure he could, not when he was this deeply entrenched. She was his only real friend. If she walked away from him… well, Fitz wasn’t quite sure staying for the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. training would be worth it if he had to do it without Jemma in his life.   
It took her awhile to convince her body to relax, to accept the comfort Fitz was offering, still holding herself stiffly in his arms as he rocked them and whispered gentle words into her hair. It wasn’t until his comment about asking him to walk away sank in that Jemma’s nerves eased. “You’re my best friend,” she whispered against his shoulder. “And- whatever else this is turning into.” They still hadn’t defined or labeled exactly what was going on between them, and it made her a little nervous about that too, but not the unreasonable panic of everything else. 

“I don’t want to lose you, either,” she said finally. “I’d leave SHIELD altogether first. This place… it’s not even worth it to me anymore.” Jemma had never expected to be so lonely as she’d been here before meeting Fitz, and certainly never to be abused by some older cadet. Fitz was the only thing holding her here now, and even then there’d been plenty of moments this past week when she’d thought about quitting, going home and having her own quiet room back, her parents nearby. 

If it hadn’t been for his steady presence and support, she likely would have. 

Hearing his own thoughts whispered against his shoulder actually forced a smile onto his lips, and Fitz nearly giggled into her hair with a sudden effervescent giddiness. 

“Oh, Chris’, we’re a pair, aren’ we?” He pressed a few more kisses to her temple and forehead before he allowed his hands to come up to cup her cheeks. He kept his movements gentle as he directed her to look at him, his thumbs stroking over her cheeks to wipe away her tears. Only when he was satisfied that her tears had stopped did he glance at the clock. It was nearly 11 pm. 

“I’s time for bed, lass,” he told her, voice gentle. “I think we both need sleep after th’ day we’ve had.” He kissed her forehead once more, wanting to kiss her lips but afraid of pushing too much for one evening. “Is there anythin’ ye need from me before ye settle in for th’ nigh’?”

Jemma sucked her bottom lip in, worrying at it with her teeth. “I can’t sleep yet,” she whispered, her heart twisting with the certain knowledge that she’d only wake herself with nightmares again - not just of Harris this time, but of Fitz losing his temper. The last thing she wanted was for him to realize just how badly he’d scared her, the uncertainty still lingering underneath her desperation not to lose her only friend. Or potential love. 

She drew back from him to sigh and glance around her dorm before grabbing her backpack and hauling the heavy bag over to the couch with her. Sitting there, Jemma pulled out her laptop and busied herself plugging it in to charge and pulling up one of her quiet classical playlists. 

When the cushion next to her didn’t dip in with his weight by the time she sat back up, she glanced back and realized he was still pressed against her door, only the outline of him visible to her in the dim light. “Leo?” she whispered, voice cracking again. 

A piece of her thought maybe he didn’t want to be here, with her, but then Jemma realized she’d never answered his question. What did she need from him? It hardly took a few seconds. “I need you with me,” she said softly, stretching her hand out imploringly, “Please?” 

Fitz could have sworn he felt his heart breaking when she walked away without saying anything more than her comment that she couldn’t yet sleep. She didn’t want him here, didn’t need or hope for anything from him, he’d be better off slipping out the door and just leaving now. Why wait just to have her reject him out right?

He’d been about to open the door and slip out, leave her to whatever it was she wanted to do, when she reached out her hand to him, a lifeline he hadn’t even thought he could expect. 

He took it, going to her and slipping his hand into hers as he sat on the sofa. He sat as near as he dared, still afraid that she’d send him on his way momentarily, despite the way she’d threaded their fingers together. She’d been watching him the entire time, but only now did he meet her gaze, his eyes pale blue and glassy as they locked onto her. 

“I- We-” He screwed his eyes shut, gathering his thoughts anew the best he could. “Ye dinnae even know wha’ ye mean t’ me, do ye?”

Jemma twisted around, curling up on the couch facing him, her knees against his thigh, her shoulder and head resting wearily against the back cushions. Tugging their joined hands into her lap, she wrapped her other hand around his too, clinging a little. She’d gotten so used to him being her rock, having her faith in him shaken earlier had left her a little stupid. 

If she’d just thought… She’d have realized that he wouldn’t push now, not knowing that he’d scared her. Jemma wasn’t used to Fitz being the one to need reassurance. He was so self-contained, most of the time. Sometimes it seemed like she needed him more than he needed her, but maybe that wasn’t true. His words twisted her up inside and Jemma’s fingers tightened around his. “Wha- what do you mean?” 

Fitz kept facing forward, eyes glued to the wall in front of him that he could barely make out in the gloom. It was easier than attempting to meet her eyes and the horrible truth he feared lurked there. He knew he was being irrational, but he was afraid that if he looked at her directly, she’d see something she didn’t quite care for an ask him to leave. 

He winced involuntarily at the thought, but forced himself to answer her. 

“Ye’re my best friend, Jemma, ye know tha’ already. Ye’re the firs’ person I’ve ever been able t’ speak t’ without a request for help wit’ homework o’ expectin’ me t’ be anythin’ other than myself.” He gave her hand a squeeze and ventured a look at where she was clinging to him, their hands cradled against her body. “An’, I jus’ cannae forgive myself if I’ve done somethin’ t’ ruin tha’. Ye mean t’ world t’ me, an’ ye did even before…” he struggled for the words, and eventually forced himself to look at her. He wanted her to see him, and needed to see her, as he said this. “Tha’ would have been true before th’ kissin’, Jemma. I’s even more so now,” he finished lamely, voice soft and uncertain in the darkness as the classical music droned on in the background. 

Jemma was fairly sure she stopped breathing as he spoke, her chest went so tight. “You haven’t… Fitz. You haven’t ruined anything,” she whispered, her heart hurting for the both of them. “I know you didn’t mean to… I’ve never had anyone to defend me before. I just…” Jemma trailed off, debating her words. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she wanted him to understand what was bothering her. “The way you just snapped. It came out of nowhere, and I can’t imagine what I might do to make you that angry, but it scared me. I don’t want to be afraid of you, but… God, I just…” 

She had to look away from him then, ducking away, ashamed. “I hate feeling like this. I hate that Harris has made me this scared. If this had happened two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it.” Jemma laughed at herself, but there wasn’t much humor in the sound. “Of course, two weeks ago you wouldn’t have had any reason to be that angry at Harris, but you know what I mean.” She swallowed hard and risked a moment’s glance at him, but couldn’t read his expression in the dark and dropped her eyes again. “This has to get better, right? Things have to get back to normal at some point and I’ll stop freaking out over everything.” 

He desperately wished he could tell her that yes, everything would be fine and would work itself out, that he and she could move past this, he’d dodge whatever Weaver threw at him and get to stay, and they’d settle happily into some kind of picturesque relationship. 

But that wasn’t the reality of the situation, and Leo Fitz was nothing if not a realist. 

“I have no clue, Jem.” He glanced at her, and was struck by the feeling of being a failure. She was looking to him to reassure her, to help her gain a bit of perspective, but he couldn’t even help himself with that. Still, he gave her what he could. “All I know is tha’ I wan’ t’ work a’ i’.”

For the first time since they’d found her, he felt calm enough to meet her head on, even with his tears still drying on his cheeks. His thumb began to brush small, sweeping patterns on her palm, trying to ease his own nerves as much as hers. 

“I wan’ t’ ge’ back t’ a place where ye dinnae have t’ stop and wonder about trustin’ me. I know i’ willnae be easy, bu’ tha’s okay. Nothin’ worth i’ is easy. An’ ye’re worth th’ hard work, Jemma.” 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Jemma said immediately. She did trust him. Trusted him to keep her secrets, to see her vulnerable, to be alone here in her dorm. “If anything, I don’t trust myself,” she admitted. “I feel like a different person now, and I don’t like it. I don’t like being scared. I was   
already unstable enough with the anxiety and now…” 

Her voice went thick with tears. “I feel like it’s never going to get better. I thought maybe you and I… but I’m such a mess. You’re going to get tired of having to try and fix me all the time. Or walking on eggshells to try not to scare me.” Jemma sucked in a shaky breath, reaching up to swipe at the tears leaking onto her cheeks. 

Fitz found himself inching closer to her on the sofa, bringing himself to press up against her as much as he could, her knees now poking into the meat of his thigh. He placed a gentle hand on her calf, lightly curling his fingers around the muscle enough to let her know he was there but not enough to startle her. 

“I honestly cannae imagine a world where I ge’ tired o’ ye. I mean’ wha’ I said about hard work an’ ye bein’ worth i’.” Her words from a week ago, after she hadn’t been able to sleep that one night, danced across his mind. He considered asking if she needed him to fetch her medicine for her, but thought better of it; she seemed concerned enough that he thought her crazy without him asking her whether she wanted to take something for anxiety a moment later. He went with something he hoped would be safer instead. “Each day tha’ goes by, i’ will seem better. Tha’ I do know, an’ i’ starts tonigh’. A good nigh’s sleep will make everythin’ seem much better in th’ mornin’.”

Jemma tipped toward him, pressing her forehead to the curve of Fitz’ shoulder. “I don’t want to sleep. I’m just going to wake up again from nightmares and be awake the rest of the night anyway,” she admitted. Which was a big part of why she hadn’t been letting him stay the night since Harris had started following her. It was bad enough that she wasn’t sleeping, with finals starting this week, without bringing Fitz down with her. 

Something occurred to Jemma, and she drew back to look at him, her eyes glossed and cheeks wet. “What did you tell Agent Weaver? Someone’s bound to tell her that you and Harris were fighting because of me.” Jemma was torn, not wanting to have to talk about what had happened with her and the older cadet - but she didn’t want Fitz getting into trouble for it either. “And if he’s out there, he can still foll-” She hurriedly bit off her comment, eyes wide and suddenly frightened again. Jemma hadn’t meant to tell Fitz that.

He drew back and shifted to square his shoulders toward her, trying to process exactly what it was she’d said and going incredibly still. He decided to answer her question regarding Weaver first, figuring that it was likely the most pressing thing on her mind. 

“Neither o’ us said anythin’ t’ Agent Weaver, an’ th’ same goes for Boston Police. Although, I cannae say whether any o’ th’ library staff mentioned ye bein’ there. All I know is tha’ when she asked wha’ we were fightin’ for, I told her i’ was over who coul’ solder better, an’ Harris wen’ along wit’ i’.”

He licked his lips, considering her and debating how he should proceed. If Harris had indeed been following her this week, and he hadn’t known about it…

“Jemma, did ye jus’ say tha’ Harris has been followin’ ye?” Fitz did everything he could to keep his tone even and devoid of emotion. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if he went flying off the handle now, not after the talk they’d just had. “Is he the’ reason ye’ve been gettin’ t’ class so early? An’ why ye want t’ avoid campus outside o’ class?”

She nodded slowly, eyes fixed on his even though her hands were shaking where they were clasped around his. “Since last Tuesday,” Jemma whispered, knowing she was about to make him angry - or at the very least, upset with her. “He’d come up behind me between classes, close enough to touch, but he never did. Or I’d turn a corner and he’d be standing right where I would nearly run into him. Two or three times a day. I don’t know how he always knew when you wouldn’t be with me, but…” 

Jemma dropped her gaze, ashamed and uncertain, “I knew you’d confront him again, and I didn’t want any more trouble. Guess that plan didn’t work out too well, did it?” 

His grip tightened reflexively around her fingers, and Fitz had to force himself to relax, lest he accidentally hurt her. If he did, he’d never forgive himself. So instead he focused on his breathing as he struggled to find the right words. 

“Seems we both have th’ same problem, lass.” He gave her a small grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ye were tryin’ t’ protec’ me, an’ I was tryin’ t’ protec’ ye. An’ instead o’ fixin’ anythin’, we made it worse.” He paused, considering the situation, and felt his cheeks begin to flame as shame filled him anew. “T’ be fair, I made i’ far worse by hittin’ him, bu’ I think we could have handled i’ all if we’d been talkin’ t’ each other, Jemma.” He gave her as calm a look as he could muster, given the anger that still coursed through him. “We’re better when we try t’ solve things together, no?”

Despite all his effort to keep his voice even, Jemma still flinched at his words. He was right, about everything. The humorless grin hurt, knowing he was trying to cover up what he was feeling for her sake. She missed their uncomplicated friendship desperately right at that moment, back when she didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing or falling into a panic attack at the drop of a hat. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve made such a mess of this. I didn’t want to be helpless, or have you feel like you had to be with me all the time. I don’t want to be some sort of obligation to you because you think I’m not strong enough to handle it on my own.” Jemma looked down at their joined hands and gave in to the tears she’d been fighting for hours, everything releasing at once. “I wanted so many things and all I’ve done is mess them up,” she sobbed out, turning further into the cushions and burying her face against them. Jemma would have turned away completely, wanting to hide even more than the dark room allowed for, but she couldn’t bring herself to give up her grip on his hand, the one comforting contact she had with him right now. 

Shuddering helplessly, racked with the force of her emotions, Jemma finally came to the conclusion she should have ten days ago. “I should tell Agent Weaver. This is all because I didn’t do what I was supposed to and report him. I’m so stupid. Stupid. I could have bloody said something and tried to get him gone and away from me…” 

Fitz was off the sofa before he realized what he was doing, moving to kneel on the floor next to her even as he kept his hand locked with hers. There was no way he was giving up his hold on her, not now when she clearly needed him so. He slid an arm between her and the cushion as he brought his chin to rest on her shoulder. 

“Jemma, ye dinnae make a mess o’ anythin’. If anyone made a mess o’ i’, i’s Harris, plain an’ simple.” He pressed his chin more firmly into her, wanting to hold her more closely and ease her, but unable to do anymore at the moment. “An’ I woul’ wan’ t’ be around ye all th’ time anyway, ye know. I-” 

The words that had previously been flowing so freely had stopped on him right as he got to what he needed to say. Typical. He lowered his forehead to her shoulder, mimicking her early position, and pressed on. The words came more easily now that he wasn’t looking directly at her.

“I was fallin’ for ye before this, lass. I wan’ t’ be around ye all th’ time anyway. I’m jus’ sorry I didnae ask ye ou’ sooner an’ save us all th’ hear’break.” He shook his head to banish the thought; if he got caught up in that line of thinking now, he’d just chase himself in circles, even more so than he was doing right now. “An’ if ye wan’ t’ talk t’ Agen’ Weaver, ye can come wit’ me in th’ mornin’. She wants me in at 0900 t’ explain myself. I have a feelin’ she’s goin’ t’ try an’ ge’ th’ story from both Harris an’ I, one way o’ another.”

Jemma let out a soft noise when he moved, her breath hitching when he leaned his chin on her shoulder. His soft words sent her heartbeat stumbling in her chest, wishing she wasn’t crying like this so she could appreciate them properly. Eyes red and puffy, her cheeks wet, she peered at him over her shoulder, trying to judge his sincerity. Even in the dark she was close enough to see his expression, mingled hope and upset. She probably had something similar on hers under the tears. 

Biting her lip, she pulled in a deep steadying breath, tipping her forehead to lean against his. In that moment, she made a decision and could only hope that it was the right one. Jemma pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and drew back to give him a shaky nod. “Alright. If I’m going to do this, I need to do it the right way. Can you-? I need a minute, okay?” she said gently disentangling herself from him. Jemma knew she was probably confusing him as she got up from the couch, but there were a few small things she needed to do. 

Indeed, when she glanced down at where he knelt in front of the couch, his blue eyes were fixed on her and Jemma reached to run her fingertips through his curls. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this going up a day late. I went out of town this weekend, and I expected there to be internet access where I was. Boy, was I wrong. Oops.

Fitz leaned a bit into her touch, taking pleasure in the small contact, before he watched her go, unbearably curious as to what she could possibly need to do at this late hour. He turned to sit on the floor, sagging a bit against the couch. He felt deflated, utterly so, and found himself wondering how exactly they’d come to this. 

He had never been a violent person. In truth, the only fights he’d ever been in had been with his cousins, and even those hadn’t been serious skirmishes. But James Harris… James Harris was a man he wouldn’t weep for, not after what he’d done to Jemma. Fitz began picking at his nails as he waited, mulling the idea over. Try as he might, for her sake, he simply couldn’t bring himself to regret hitting Harris. The man had to be taught a lesson, that putting his hands on a woman was entirely unacceptable. If Fitz took a few lumps for that, so be it. 

He sighed, and tipped his head back against the cushions. The problem was, his few lumps very well could mean his expulsion from the Academy. He had attacked a senior cadet, not once, but twice, and he didn’t trust Harris to keep his mouth shut if Weaver pushed him. And Jemma… well, if she came with him, it could only help Fitz, but at what cost to her? It wasn’t fair to make her relive what Harris had done only to save his own skin. 

Suddenly, he wished Jemma hadn’t left. There was nothing more he wanted than to hold her tight to him, an anchor against the storm that seemed to be building around them. 

Jemma ducked into the bathroom first, wetting a washcloth with cool water and pressing it over her face to wash the tears away and help ease the puffy, heated feel of her skin. Although she was shaky still, there was a comfort in feeling like she was finally doing something that might actually help relieve her recent stress instead of avoiding it. 

Next was a dose of Ativan, so she’d be able to type without her hands shaking all over the place from nerves, then grabbing a pillow and blanket from her bed. She dropped those on the couch on the way into the kitchen for the last thing - to climb up on the kitchen counter and pull out her emergency stash of Cadbury’s chocolate. It was damned near impossible to find in the States, so Jemma’s mum sent her a box now and then. 

She came back to the couch and sat, her leg pressed against Fitz’ arm where he still sat on her floor, her fingers finding their way into his hair again and scratching softly. “Here,” Jemma offered, her voice far more steady now, dropping the bag of chocolate into his lap. He’d appreciate the reminder of home, too. “Help yourself. And can you hand me my laptop?

Fitz rolled his head off of the cushion, forcing himself out of his dark thoughts, and handed her the laptop. That done, he toyed with the bag of chocolate in his lap, eventually snaking his hand inside to snag a piece before setting it on the couch behind him. He toyed with it a bit before tipping his head back to look at her. 

“Wha’s th’ play, Jemma? Where do we go from here?”

She pulled her legs up, draping the blanket over them before settling the computer into her lap. “I’m going to do what I should have done in the first place and report him,” Jemma replied. For the first time in nearly eleven days, she felt confident in something. She took a deep breath, clicking open her word processing software to a blank document. “And I’m making it a written statement, so hopefully I won’t have to repeat myself twenty times to Agent Weaver and whoever else has to know.” 

“You’ll still probably be in trouble for fighting, but… hopefully it won’t be so bad,” she admitted, knowing all too well how much bureaucracy SHIELD employed in getting anything done. “And with any luck Harris will be gone and I won’t have to worry about him anymore.” 

He nodded, seeing the sense in her plan, even though he didn’t much like it. He’d wanted to keep her out of it entirely, although with what had happened tonight, that wasn’t much of a possibility now. The gossip was going to be vicious, too. That, more than anything, would hurt like hell, not for him, but for her. He hated to see her go through that, but they didn’t have much of a choice. 

As for the fighting… well, he’d be okay. Hopefully it’d be nothing more than probation. He could handle probation. 

He brought his hand up, searching for her own, and held fast when he found it. “Ye know I’m wit’ ye every step o’ th’ way, righ’? Tha’ there’s nothin’ tha’ could happen o’ be said tha’ woul’ make me walk away from ye. Or this.” 

He gave her hand a little extra squeeze so she’d pick up on his meaning. 

“I know,” she said, letting him tug her hand away from where it hovered over the keyboard. Jemma curled her fingers around his palm, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. “This next little while is going to be rough - nothing is ever a secret around here, and people had already figured out that you and he fought. If he gets expelled…” She sighed, knowing exactly what would happen. People would latch onto the least hint of ‘fact’ and expound upon it, whether they knew the truth or not. 

“Even so… it’s the right thing to do. He should face consequences for what he did to me. What he might have done to some other girl.” That had weighed on Jemma, too. Harris’ apartment wasn’t on campus. It would have been easy for him to take other girls there, drunk, and attack them without anyone being the wiser. If she had had anymore alcohol that night, she might not have been able to fight him off. 

Jemma couldn’t see Fitz’ face, but his posture still seemed tense. He’d been her rock the past two weeks, and he deserved better than her mixed signals and shifting moods. Leaning down, Jemma craned forward, balancing precariously to kiss his cheek. “It’ll be okay. We will be okay. Whatever else happens, I need that to be true,” she said softly, tipping her head against his for a second before she had to lean back or risk tipping forward off the couch. 

“This is going to take me awhile,” she admitted, returning her attention to the laptop screen. “Why don’t you pull out the Wii or something?” The last thing she wanted was for him to sit around bored while she wrestled with writing up her statement for Agent Weaver. Especially if he decided to watch her the way he did sometimes.

The soft press of her lips to his cheek eased the last of his tension, and Fitz found that he was finally starting to feel comfortable in his skin again. He shook out his arms and shoulders, trying to get loose before moving. He had considered taking a nap, but he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, at least not until he knew she was tucked in and ready to rest, too. Even so, after forcing herself to live those memories again in her written statement, and the prospect of having to speak it aloud tomorrow… something told Fitz that neither of them would be getting much sleep until this whole ordeal was over and behind them.

“I have some designs I need t’ work on for Rus. D’ ye mind if I put th’ lights on? A’ leas’ th’ one over the table so I can see?”

He stood up as he spoke, grabbing his bag and shuffling toward her small dining table. It wasn’t as big as the drafting table he had in the lab, but it would do for the small adjustments he had to make to his design. It had the added benefit of being near her while he worked, so he could be there if she needed him without crowding her too badly. The last thing he wanted to be was a nuisance. 

Jemma was relieved at his choice. It’d put Fitz out of her line of sight, since the table was behind the couch and off to one side, so if he did watch her, she likely wouldn’t notice as much. “Yeah, that’s fine,” she nodded. “I’ll leave the music on then, so it doesn’t get too quiet.” 

It didn’t take long before they were both lost in their respective tasks, and more than an hour passed by without much notice. Jemma glanced at the clock once or twice, but it was a little after 1am before she was satisfied with the narrative she’d put together for Agent Weaver. 

She debated asking Fitz to proofread it for her, but she suspected he would want to take more of the blame for what happened than what she’d given him. Jemma hadn’t lied at all, but she had downplayed his involvement a little. Instead she ran a spelling and grammar check for obvious mistakes, saved the file and opened her email. 

There was an email from Agent Weaver waiting for her. 

Asking for a meeting at 0830 - just before Fitz’ scheduled meeting with the older agent. 

Jemma squared her shoulders and hit the reply button, typing out a quick email:

Agent Weaver, 

I understand that you will be meeting with Leo Fitz in the morning, and I assume James Harris as well. I have information that may influence your decision in both cases and have spent the evening preparing the attached report. 

I should have reported these incidents prior to this evening’s altercation and will accept whatever disciplinary action you see fit for my role in this situation. 

I will be at your office at 0830 to answer any questions or provide clarification to the information I’ve provided in the attached document. 

Sincerely, 

Cadet J. Simmons

She quickly attached the file and clicked send before she could second guess herself. 

Slowly closing the laptop lid, Jemma sat back on the couch and took a deep breath. “It’s out of my hands now,” she said softly. “Well… as much as it can be.” 

He had been doing his best to not watch her as she worked, but Fitz looked up from his blueprints when she spoke, her voice loud in the small space despite her soft tone. He could tell, even from behind the sofa, that her shoulders were slumped. In fact, her entire posture was a bit deflated, and so Fitz got up from his work and went over to her, sidling around the edge of the sofa and nudging her to give him some room next to her. 

Seated, he took her hand in his, and considered her for a moment before speaking. He wanted to ask what she’d written, if she’d share it with him so he knew what he’d be walking in to in the morning, but he let it go. It was Jemma, and he clearly wasn’t thinking clearly, given the late hour. There was no way she’d paint in him a negative light; he’d done enough of that on his own, and Jemma’s sterling record could only help him. 

“How d’ ye feel?” he finally asked, genuinely concerned. She seemed weary to him, but he wasn’t quite sure what she wanted next. 

When it was just the two of them, with no experiments in sight to bicker over, Jemma didn’t even consider worrying that she might make him angry, so the fear she’d struggled with earlier didn’t even twinge at her nerves.

Stretching her arms up over her head, Jemma tipped her head to one side and arched her back, straightening out of the slump she’d fallen into during two hours of typing a miserably personal description of her last two weeks at SciTech. Wincing at the loud pop her back made, Jemma sighed let him take her hand when she brought them back down. 

“Tired,” she sighed, reaching to set her laptop aside, “Ready for this to all be over.” Leaning into his side, Jemma rested her head on the curve of Fitz’ shoulder. “Agent Weaver asked to talk to me at 0830. I replied and sent the report with it. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that she figured out I was somehow involved. I mean… I can’t imagine the professors haven’t noticed I’ve been… off.”

He turned toward Jemma, and without really stopping to think much of it, dropped a kiss on the crown of her head before resting his cheek atop it. 

“I’ will all be over soon, Jem. Th’ waitin’ is jus’ th’ hardest part.” He glanced at the clock and winced when he realized how late it was. He’d be a bear tomorrow, going to sleep so late and having to be up and ready for a meeting with the SciTech director. He’d have to be doubly sure to watch his tone. He liked Agent Weaver, and he thought she liked him, but Fitz knew he was on thin ice. There was no need for him to make it worse by being snarky. 

He tugged his phone from his pocket and opened up his alarm, quickly tapping through the options. “Wha’ time did ye wan’ t’ ge’ up tomorrow?” he asked, aware that the question might be seen as presumptuous. But frankly, at nearly 1:30 in the morning, he had no plans to walk back to his dorm. He’d be fine kipping on the couch, and as long as he got up early enough, he’d be able to run home for a change of clothes before the meeting. “I can wake ye before I head back t’ mine an’ change. An’ if ye wan’, I can come back for ye wit’ th’ car so ye dinnae have t’ walk t’ Weaver’s office.”

“Seven?” Jemma suggested. It’d give her plenty of time to go through her morning routine and be suitably armored for a meeting with their senior officer. She wanted to say she was fine to get to the administration building on her own, but given that it was highly likely Harris would be heading there as well, she didn’t want to take the risk. “I’d appreciate that. Being picked up, I mean,” she agreed. 

After a slight hesitation while he keyed in the alarm settings, Jemma got to her feet, exhausted and wanting nothing more than her bed. Except maybe a hug and a bit of snuggling if he was amenable. “C’mon,” she murmured, reaching out a hand to him. “I need to sleep or I’ll be even more of a mess tomorrow.”

He looked at her hand, and hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting to go with her and worrying about what she’d said earlier. If he really made her nervous now, if he scared her… how much harm could he potentially do if he held her too closely and scared her in the middle of the night? He considered it, and his own selfishness promptly dismissed the thought. 

She wanted him, and he needed her. 

He pushed off the couch, and after stopping to grab her pillow and blanket, took her hand and obediently followed her into her room.

It might have been silly given they were about to cuddle up in bed, but when Fitz dropped the pillow and blanket onto her bed Jemma slipped closer to curl her arms around his middle. Her nose nuzzled into the hollow above his collarbone in what was becoming an accustomed place for her, the more hugs she claimed from him. 

The feel of him against her made Jemma wish she’d let him hug her earlier, when he’d seen her with Jenkins after the fight. Wished she’d let him pull her close to hide away from the world for a few minutes, then cuddled in at his side in the car instead of creating that distance between them. There was still that worry in the back of her mind, but now that she could think properly, it seemed a little silly. It was Fitz. He couldn’t do something like that to her. 

Eyes sliding shut, Fitz held her close, arms tight around her shoulders as he leaned his cheek against her head. Her breath was warm and comforting where it skimmed across his chest, even through the thin material of his shirt. It was a little sad, he thought, how much joy he took in having small, quiet moments like this with Jemma. 

His gut roiled violently at the thought that he might have to give her up soon, if Weaver expelled him from SciTech. 

Part of him said he should pull back, get into bed, and sleep. They both needed the rest, particularly with their meetings looming over them, but he just couldn’t let her go. She felt too good pressed against him, and was loathe to give her up. Eventually, weariness got the better of him, and he pressed a kiss to her temple before releasing her. 

“C’mon, i’s bed time,” he whispered, voice kind and laced with the slightest bit of longing. “We can cuddle all we like ‘til mornin’.”

Jemma nearly went to bed without even changing her clothes, but at the last minute she disappeared into the bathroom for a minute to switch her jeans out for a soft pair of shorts, tossing them toward her hamper as she padded toward the bed and crawled in with Fitz. He’d already gotten comfortable, so she curled in next to him, snuggling down to rest her head on his chest, an arm draped over his middle. 

Everything about the day was catching up to her, along with the medication she’d taken easing her toward sleep and she knew it wouldn’t take long for her to drift off. She leaned up long enough to kiss his scruffy jaw. “G’night, Leo,” she murmured. 

He woke slowly, the early morning light peeking in through her blinds rousing him before his alarm. Fitz took advantage of the moment to just watch Jemma. She seemed so uncomfortable when he did it while she was awake, he wanted to soak it in now, before he lost the opportunity. 

He slid his fingers through her hair, clearing it out of the way so he could admire her. After brushing her dark tresses away, he could see the angle of her nose, the curve of her brow, the rosy curve of her lips. She was beautiful, so beautiful it made his heart ache more than a bit. 

He wondered, briefly, if this was how men condemned to die felt, trying to soak everything in one last time before the door closed indefinitely. 

He brushed the thought away with a sigh. Even if he was expelled, there was no reason to believe he’d never see Jemma again. He had his doctorate. He was brilliant. Someone, somewhere in Boston would be willing to give him work. He could stay near her, still date her if she would have him. Life wouldn’t be that bad outside of S.H.I.E.L.D., he supposed, so long as he still had Jemma in his life. 

Reassured, Fitz found himself smiling softly as his alarm finally sounded, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. 

“Time t’ ge’ up, Jemma. We need t’ ge’ movin’.” 

Jemma jerked awake and nearly bonked Fitz in the face in the process, blinking up at him blearily. “Leo?” she murmured, confused at him being there until she remembered the previous night. “Oh…” Sighing, she wrapped an arm over his body and buried her face in his chest. “Today’s going to be pretty terrible, isn’t it?” 

She ran through what classes she had today and sighed again. Two final exams to take, although thankfully the first one didn’t start until 10:30. Meeting with Agent Weaver at 8:30, she should be out in plenty of time to get there and prepare. 

He jerked back just in time to miss having his front teeth knocked out, and laid back into her pillows. He had no kind words to offer her, so he blunted the truth as best he could. 

“I’s no’ goin’ t’ be easy, tha’s for sure.” Fitz swallowed, and could feel his heart beat uptick at the thought of his interview today. Jemma was going in before him, so at least Weaver would have him painted in a somewhat positive light before calling him in, but still… he might be about to witness the end of his career before it even really got the chance to begin. 

And that was on top of the final he assumed he was still expected to take at 1 pm. Thankfully, it wasn’t one he had needed to revise for all that diligently. He pushed the bitter feeling that was invading his gut away, and chose to hug Jemma a little tighter instead. 

“Th’ sooner we face i’, th’ better, lass.” He didn’t want to let her go, even though he knew he had to get up and get moving. He certainly couldn’t arrive for his interview with Weaver in the same jeans and hoodie he’d been wearing the night before. Still, his arms wouldn’t cooperate, and Fitz lay there, pressed against her for a few desperate minutes more. 

Despite everything she was worrying about, the corners of Jemma’s mouth ticked up when his arms snugged closer around her. “It’ll be okay. It has to be,” she murmured, trying to reassure him. What would she do if Fitz was kicked out? What would she do if Harris wasn’t? Really, there was no proof that the older cadet had attacked her, outside of her own words. However, people had seen Fitz attack Harris. They’d been in the middle of the library, for goodness’ sake. 

Jemma felt a rush of fear as she realized that was true. 

Agent Weaver could completely dismiss her report as unfounded. 

What would she do then? She couldn’t stay at SciTech with Harris here and still harassing her. 

She shivered and ducked her head against Fitz’ chest for a moment before drawing back to sit up on the edge of her bed, suddenly cold and feeling very alone. “It won’t take you that long to get ready, will it? You could stay while I get ready and I can walk over with you? You can read what I wrote while you wait… I won’t take long, I promise.” 

Fitz reached out to wrap a gentle hand around her forearm, eventually sliding it down to hold her hand. Their fingers linked together, he glanced at her clock. They were losing time. He looked back at her, trying to get a read on the situation. She did not look like she could handle being left alone, and in truth, he didn’t much care to be away from her. They would just have to be quick. 

“Tha’s fine, Jem. Jus’ be quick, okay? I need t’ shower still, too.”

With that, he gave her a gentle nudge out of bed and began to gather up his own things. 

She fetched her laptop, pulling it out of hibernation as she carried it to the table, gently moving his drawings out of the way. “Here,” she said, opening the email to Agent Weaver. “Read this. You should know before you go talk to her.” 

Jemma brushed her fingers against his arm as she passed by him and back into her bedroom. True to her word, she hurried through showering and getting dressed, tugging on a white button down and plaid skirt along with a matching red cardigan. Her wet hair got towel dried and twisted into a thick braid. She really needed to cut it, she mused as she tied off the braid. Having hair halfway down her back was really inconvenient sometimes, not to mention heavy. 

She had a pair of low heels dangling from her fingers as she stepped back into the commons, looking for him. “Well? What’d you think?” 

“Of this report? Ye did a good job o’ keepin’ me ou’ o’ i’,” Fitz began, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him and clearly annoyed. She had taken far too much of the blame on her own shoulders, making it seem as if Fitz had only stepped in when she asked him to, when in reality he’d acted on his own when he’d confronted Harris the first time. She was going to get herself in trouble, and that made worry churn at his gut. 

“I really wish-” he began, but Fitz found he lost his voice when he finally looked up at her. He was utterly distracted from her report by the sight of her in a skirt, even though it was rather demure. It was a nice change, and Fitz found himself swallowing heavily and shaking his head a bit before he was able to speak again. 

“Ye look nice, Jem.” He shut her laptop and leaned back in the chair, watching as she put on her heels. “Ready t’ go then? I jus’ need to put on my shoes, an’ I’m se’ over here.” 

~*~

At 8:30, Agent Weaver’s assistant ushered her into Weaver’s office, where the older woman waited behind the desk. “Have a seat, Simmons,” she said, motioning the cadet toward a chair. 

Jemma slid into the seat, twining her hands in her lap to try and keep from fidgeting as Agent Weaver tapped and clicked on her computer. It wasn’t more than a minute before the senior officer focused on her, but it felt like forever. “Agent Weaver, I-” 

The other woman held up a hand. “You would be better served by not trying to explain yourself, Cadet. You said it in your email - you should have reported Cadet Harris immediately. I’m not entirely clear why you didn’t, so let’s start there.” 

Swallowing hard, Jemma dropped her gaze to the top of Weaver’s desk, her voice small in the large office. “I was scared. He’d bought me a drink, which I shouldn’t have had, and I went with him to his apartment. I know the statistics about rape and attempted rape. How many women are told it’s their own fault?” She shuddered at the memory of Harris’ hands on her body, “And I was so… Fitz is my best friend and I could barely stand having him near me. I couldn’t stomach telling anyone and having to be poked and prodded to prove he attacked me.” 

Weaver’s eyes narrowed a bit as she took in the young cadet before her. It wasn’t unusual, in an outfit like S.H.I.E.L.D. to have incidents such as this, where men got ahead of themselves and overstepped the lines of propriety, but something still wasn’t sitting right with her. 

“Cadet Simmons, if you were so overwrought at the idea of being near anyone, including Cadet Fitz, as you just mentioned, why is it that your narrative has him picking you up directly after the incident? Why not call your roommate, Cadet Loncola, to pick you up?” She saw the girl flinch at her tone and winced internally. Scaring her wouldn’t do any good. 

“What I mean to say, Cadet,” she tried again, voice far more gentle, “is that it seems odd that after being assaulted by a male cadet, you’d turn to another for assistance.” 

“As I said in my report, it took me nearly two hours before I convinced myself to call him. Sonja is hardly a close friend - she’s rarely in our dorm, and she doesn’t have access to a car. Fitz does - his roommate Jenkins has one.” Jemma squared her shoulders and looked up at Agent Weaver, but her nerves were still written there for anyone to read. “I’m sure it’s been noted by now that I don’t have a lot of friends. He might be male, but Fitz is the only person I have that I could have called at 5am and had any certainty that he’d help me.”

“Your closeness with Cadet Fitz has certainly been noted.” Weaver let the statement hang there, lips pressed tight as she tried to read the girl’s expression. “You understand my concern then that this is a matter of three cadets trying to work out their romantic entanglements and making a right mess of it, particularly without any physical evidence of assault.” 

Jemma’s eyes filled, her heart twisting in her chest. It was exactly what she’d expected, that no one would believe her. Still, she had to try and fix this for Fitz. It wasn’t fair that he’d have to pay for her own stupidity. If she’d just reported it, he’d never have gone after Harris in the first place, thinking the other boy would get off without any consequences. 

“There aren’t any romantic entanglements,” she said quietly. “Cadet Harris thought Fitz and I were involved and when I said no, he asked me for a date. The date ended with the incident I described in my report. Fitz only got involved because I’ve been a mess since and he’s too good a friend to leave me to deal with it on my own.” Never mind the hesitant edging toward a relationship that had happened since. 

The stern expression fell from the elder agent’s face at the girl’s words. Jemma Simmons was a fool if she honestly thought all Leo Fitz wanted was to be her friend. 

“In my experience, Cadet, young men do not fly off the handle, screaming profanities and throwing punches, over a friend.” She sighed. This was a bigger headache than she wanted to deal with on the first day of fall finals. “Whatever you two are,” she held up a hand to cut off the girl’s protest, “know that it will not be easy. S.H.I.E.L.D. is far more lenient with its scientists than its specialists, but any kind of relationship within the organization is difficult. You should be aware of that. Now, before I dismiss you, I have to ask. When I call Cadet Fitz in here, will I be hearing the same story, or will I have to call you in once more?”

Jemma started to speak when Agent Weaver sighed, but the other woman continued and she had to wait. “I think everyone remembers the lecture about Section 17 from orientation,” Jemma said carefully, not confirming or denying anything. Whatever she and Fitz were right now wasn’t any of SHIELD’s business. “Fitz just spent two weeks trying to keep me from falling apart. He overreacted to Harris refusing to get his hands off me, but don’t hold that against him. It’s not his fault.” 

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, hesitating. “I guess I can’t blame you for not believing me, but I’m not a liar, Agent Weaver. I’m just scared. I was then and I am now. I don’t want to think about having to worry about the next time Cadet Harris manages to catch me somewhere alone, given what he did in public yesterday. Fitz will tell you the same thing I’ve told you.” Her eyes filled again, the hazel bright with tears as Jemma bit her lip. “May I go now?” 

Agent Weaver arched her brow as she listened to the second youngest cadet to ever enter the Academy speak. If the situation hadn’t been so tense, she would have smirked at her daring. 

“You’ll forgive me for saying so, Cadet Simmons, but I will hold 18 year old men accountable for their actions, regardless of the impetus. However, your words will be taken into account. Go, get ready for your final. And send Cadet Fitz in, will you?”

Jemma felt the punch of Agent Weaver’s words in her gut, leaving a thick feeling of dread behind it. Nodding, she slid from the chair and outside. She wasn’t sure she could look at Fitz, knowing she may have just inadvertently irritated Weaver enough to treat him even more harshly. “She wants to talk to you now,” Jemma murmured, her head low as she brushed past him to hurry out, “I’ll talk to you later. I have a final.” 

Forty minutes later, Fitz made his own way out of Weaver’s office, head spinning as he yanked loose the knot in his tie and unbuttoned the first button of his shirt. The only thing he had any real concept of was that he was expected to take his finals this week, if Weaver’s parting comment about expecting him to set the curve on his exams was anything to go by.

That had to bode well for him, right? I mean, why would she make that comment if she was planning on kicking him out?

She had made him go over the details of that day two weeks ago when Jemma had called him, and for the most part, Fitz had told the truth: that he had met her at the diner and had taken her home so she could wash up and sleep. He glossed over the fact that he had confronted Harris once already. If Weaver was content to believe that yesterday was the first time the two of them had gotten into it, so be it. He wasn’t going to rock the boat. 

He made his way towards the chemistry hall, knowing that’s where Jemma’s final was, only stopping along the way to get two coffees. By the time he got there, he had a little more bounce in his step. Everything seemed to be looking up, and when he caught sight of her coming down the steps, he even managed to give her a genuine grin in greeting. 

Jemma, on the other hand, looked wrung out. She’d finished the exam long before everyone else and excused herself, and was thrilled to see Fitz waiting for her, but knowing Agent Weaver didn’t believe her… For the first time she was considering that she might have to leave SciTech, if Harris was allowed to stay. She couldn’t live here, looking over her shoulder all the time. And if Fitz got into serious trouble because of it, that shadow was going to haunt him the entire rest of his career. It was all her fault. Why had she ever agreed to go on that date? 

Resisting the urge to slide between the paper cups in his hands and hug him, Jemma halted a few steps away, her expression still and eyes careful. “You look awfully happy,” she said in lieu of greeting. “And is one of those for me?”

He nodded, grin still plastered on his face and handed her her cup. “I’m happy,” he explained, “because I dinnae think she’s goin’ t’ give me th’ boot.” He ran through the conversation he’d had with the SciTech director, asking Jemma for her input. 

“I mean, tha’d be an odd thing t’ say, righ’, if she was plannin’ on kickin’ me ou’?” He nudged her with his shoulder, not entirely oblivious to her subdued reaction. “Look, Jemma, I know i’ might be too early t’ celebrate, an’ tha’ she still wants t’ talk t’ Harris, bu’ this is a good thing. So, smile for me, lass, please?”  
Jemma nodded at his assertion, “Yes, that would be odd. It certainly seems like you’ll get to stay. I’m sure there’ll be some sort of disciplinary action, though. You did get into a fight with him.” She curled her hands around the coffee cup, letting the warmth soak into her hands, chilled from her nerves along with the winter air. 

She forced a smile at his request, but there wasn’t anything behind it, at least nothing good. “C’mon,” Jemma sighed. “Let’s head over to the lab. It’s too cold out here.” The skirt she’d chosen to wear for the meeting with Agent Weaver certainly wasn’t helping, even with the tights she’d put on under it. 

A glance over at Fitz told her that he was confused by her reaction, and Jemma sighed softly. “She doesn’t believe me, Fitz. About Harris. She thinks this is some lover’s spat, that you two got into a fight because of me and now I’m trying to get Harris in trouble to help you.” Jemma’s knuckles were white where she was clinging to the cup in her hands. “He’s not going to get kicked out, because I didn’t report it. There’s no proof anything happened and Agent Weaver can’t do anything just because I claimed it happened.” 

They walked side by side a ways while Fitz processed what she had said. It was fundamentally unfair that Harris would get to stay after what he’d done, but Weaver and the higher ups were unlikely to do anything about it, hell, couldn’t do anything about it, unless some other girl reported him. It was enough to make Fitz want to scream. 

Instead, he elected to focus on Jemma. He moved his free hand to her wrist, tugging gently to separate it from its death grip on her coffee cup so he could twine their fingers together. She gave him a worried look, and he instantly knew what she was concerned about. He frowned and shook his head a bit. 

“I dinnae care wha’ they think or say.” His tone brokered no room for argument as he led them through the automated doors of the lab. “We know we dinnae do anythin’ suspec’, an’ anyone can bugger off for thinkin’ as much.” 

Jemma knew he’d say something like that. It was so like Fitz. Have an authority figure tell him no and it’d only make him bound and determined to do it anyway, if he didn’t see the reason for it. Once the doors slid shut behind him, she gently disentangled her hand from his and retreated to her own side of the lab. 

“I know, but… can we not? Until this all blows over, at least? I don’t…” Agent Weaver’s comments about the administration knowing about her and Fitz were still running through her mind, the comment about men not jumping to defend someone they just saw as a friend. If Agent Weaver was considering letting Fitz stay, and making her decision, Jemma didn’t want to give the senior agent any other doubts that might change her mind. 

It hurt just to say that to him though, and she turned to set her cup down, busying herself fidgeting with something on her lab bench to hide the expression on her face, not realizing that the defeated slump of her shoulders gave her away. 

Jemma’s words stung, and they stung more than Fitz would like to admit. Hell, this entire situation had him confused as all hell, unsure of how to behave and when. All he knew is that he wanted her, wanted to try dating her to see where it could go, and that he didn’t give a damn about what anyone had to say about it. He set his own cup down and went to stand next to her. 

“If tha’s wha’ ye wan’, Jemma, tha’s wha’ we’ll do.” He kept his voice pitched low so that the lab security cameras wouldn’t pick up on what he was saying. “Bu’ as soon as a decision comes in, one way o’ another, I’m takin’ ye on a proper date. S.H.I.E.L.D. be damned.”


	10. Chapter 10

They spent the next week and a half tiptoeing around each other, doing everything they could to avoid giving anyone reason to look at them suspiciously. They still spent time together, but always in a public place, and the topics were always limited to what exams they had next. Fitz found it exhausting, and found himself compulsively checking his email for any word from Weaver or her office.

 

Word finally came ten days later in the form of an email:

 

_Cadet Fitz,_

 

_You are to present yourself at the Office of the Director at 1430 on Thursday, the 19th to hear the final decision regarding your position with the Academy. Failure to appear will be seen as insubordination, and will result in your immediate dismissal._

 

_Sincerely,_

 

_Agent Anne Weaver_

_Director, S.H.I.E.L.D. Science-Technical Academy_

 

Fitz swallowed heavily as he read the missive several times, his heart thumping and his palms sweating. For some reason, he was incredibly nervous, despite his earlier bravado that he’d be allowed to stay. All the same, at this point, he just wanted to know his standing and move past the whole thing.

 

Thursday couldn’t come soon enough.

 

The same day, Jemma emerged from her last final to find Agent Weaver speaking with another professor in the hallway, breaking off the conversation when she spotted Jemma.

 

“Cadet Simmons, come with me, please,” the older Agent said quietly, leading Jemma outside.

 

Weaver’s face gave nothing away, and Jemma followed meekly after her until they had gotten a bit further away from the building. “Agent Weaver? Is something wrong?”

 

Stopping in the middle of the pathway, Agent Weaver turned to the younger woman and shook her head. “No, not wrong, but I felt it prudent to unofficially update you on the situation. Can I trust that you’ll keep this between us?”

 

Startled, Jemma could only nod, and Weaver’s tense expression loosened a little. “Good. Cadet Harris is graduating early and will be assigned elsewhere within the week. He will not have reason to return to this campus or this city for some time. Without being able to prove anything, it was the best I could do.”

 

“I- thank you. I think.” Jemma bit her lip, having mixed feelings about the decision that had been made. Early graduation seemed like Harris was being rewarded for attacking her.

 

“There’s a note in his file now, Jemma. Your name was left out of it, but it says there was a report from a reliable source that could not be validated. If there’s even a hint of impropriety again, someone is going to be looking at him long and hard.” Weaver reached out to squeeze Jemma’s forearm. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Jemma. But without the proof… honestly, this was the best I could do. I hope you appreciate my position.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jemma said softly. “I just- Well, it doesn’t matter now. Although- what does this mean for Fitz?” She had to ask, even if she wasn’t sure she’d like the answer.

 

Weaver shook her head, and the softer expression on the older woman’s face tightened, “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that at this time. You’ll have to wait until he’s been told.”

 

Well, that wasn’t encouraging. Jemma swallowed hard and nodded, knowing she’d have to respect that. “I understand,” she replied, then paused, “Thank you for telling me about Harris. I… feel better, knowing that I don’t have to look over my shoulder all the time now.”

 

“You’re welcome, Jemma. I have a meeting shortly, so I must be going. Do enjoy your holiday, hm?” The other woman nodded in return and took off briskly down the sidewalk, leaving Jemma to stare after her. Blowing out a heavy breath, Jemma turned to head back to her dorm, then paused, tugging out her phone.

 

Fitz, Leo (03:12 PM): agent weaver just pulled me aside for a chat

Fitz, Leo (03:12 PM): we need to talk

Fitz, Leo (03:12 PM): where are you?

 

Fitz sat as his desk, staring at his advanced mechanics text in a desperate bid to take his mind off the earlier email. But, for a boy who had never spent a day studying in his life, trying to get into the practice now only backfired on him. He tried to read the material science section for the umpteenth time, only to have it melt and turn into Weaver’s email.

 

Thursday, the 19th at 2:30 pm.

 

His last final was tomorrow; he’d have nearly a full day to drive himself up a wall. Fitz smiled, a bitter, sarcastic twist to his lips, as he thought that he’d have plenty of practice at it by then. Fortunately, the text notification on his phone saved him from that line of thought, and he eagerly returned Jemma’s messages.

 

Jemma (03:14 PM): I’m in my room. Am I in trouble?

Jemma (03:14 PM): The door’s unlocked. Just come in when you get here.

 

His messages sent, he put his phone to the side and did his best to try and study something, in the hopes of keeping his grasp on the bit of sanity he had left.

 

Jemma hurried across campus to Fitz’ dorm, using the key he’d given her months ago to get in the main door. “Fitz?” she called out as she came in, glancing around for Jenkins and Kennedy. Neither of them seemed to be home, so she continued on to Fitz’ room. She paused in the doorway, checking that his roommates weren’t in here pestering him, before she came in and quietly closed the door behind her.

 

He was at his desk, an open textbook laid on the desktop, but had turned toward the door at her call. Jemma was across the room and into his lap before she thought about it, so utterly relieved that Harris would be gone that she started trembling at the force of the emotion as soon as she settled against Fitz.

 

She was a warm, pleasant distraction as she settled into his lap, and Fitz gladly wrapped his arms around her, all thoughts of studying banished from his mind. The email still lurked in the background, ready and eager to eat at him again, but for now, Jemma was enough.

 

“Wha’s this, lass? I though’ ye said none o’ this until everythin’ blew over?” He did his best to keep his tone light, not wanting to accidently drive her from his lap; even though they’d only had a few days of cuddling like this, Fitz had grown accustomed to it, and he didn’t want to give her a reason to pull away yet again. Instead, he pressed his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply, taking comfort in being able to surround himself with her.

 

“Seriously, is somethin’ wrong? Is there somethin’ I need t’ know about?” Fitz felt his stomach clench in fear, suddenly afraid that something much, much larger than his meeting with Weaver was looming over them.

“No. No, nothing like that,” Jemma shook her head where she’d pressed her forehead in against his shoulder, her hair hiding her face from him. “Weaver told me they’re graduating Harris early. It was the only way she could get him gone without proof that he attacked me.” Her voice shook a little with the pronouncement, and her fingers clenched in Fitz’ shirt. “I’m happy he’s leaving, but I wish… Hindsight is always perfect.”

 

Jemma had missed being able to be close to him, too, even though she knew she’d made the right decision, keeping some distance between them while Agent Weaver was making her decision about their futures with SHIELD. Right now though, she needed him more than she needed to be careful. “I tried to get her to tell me what’s going to happen to you, but she wouldn’t tell me. Said you had to be told first,” she said apologetically. “I don’t know when that will be.”

 

She snuggled in a little closer, adjusting in Fitz’ lap so she could press her body in against his, soaking in the warmth radiating from his body, hers chilled from the walk across campus in the damp December cold.

 

“Thursday,” Fitz murmured against the cool skin of her cheek. “Her office sen’ me an email today askin’ me t’ be in Thursday a’ 2:30.” He felt a shiver run through her slender frame and frowned in response. “Ye’re freezing. C’mon, under th’ covers wit’ ye.” He stood her up and moved off the chair, encouraging her to climb into his bed. Just then he had a thought, and changed directions, going for his dresser instead.

 

He reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, his family’s tartan, and found a long sleeved shirt for her as well. He gently pressed both items into her stomach, and explained, “Ye’ll feel better if ye put on somethin’ tha’ hasnae been ou’ in th’ damp. Go on an’ change. I’ll be in th’ common room. Jus’ come ge’ me when ye’re done, an’ we can cuddle up, yeah?”

 

“But that’s two days from now!” Jemma frowned. If they’d made a decision, why wait to tell him? She made a noise of protest when he nudged her off his lap, lower lip shifting into a pout until he nudged her toward the bed. Her expression shifted to hope, disappointment when he turned away, then soft amusement as he handed her clothes to change into. Even with her insistence on not being openly affectionate since the conversation with Agent Weaver, Fitz had been trying his best to take care of her.

 

She took them, leaning up to press a kiss to Fitz’ cheek. “Alright, then. Go on, so I can change.”

 

It didn’t take her more than a couple minutes, even taking the time to steal Fitz’ comb and wrangle her windblown hair into submission. His clothes were far too big on her, even though he didn’t seem to be that much larger than she was, and she peeked around the doorframe even as she pushed the sleeves up over her hands. “I’m decent,” she called.

 

He ducked back around the doorframe when she called out to him, and couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her in his clothes. Despite his slight build, they were still baggy on her, a fact he found wildly endearing. He reached out for her hand, and catching it, towed her along toward the bed with him.

 

Fitz slipped under his comforter before turning and holding it up so she could climb in, too. “C’mon, lass, le’ me hold ye for a bit. I think we both could use i’.”

 

His insistence on keeping her close made her smile, and she held back rather than letting him hold her immediately. After crawling onto the bed, she looked over at him, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t suppose that comes with a kiss or two, does it?” she asked shyly.

 

The conversation with Agent Weaver had finally let her feel like an end was in sight, that things could go back to normal rather than her being panicked or scared all the time, wondering what Harris was going to do. The past ten days had been better, knowing that the administration was aware, but hadn’t been great. Now something inside her had eased, some of the weight she’d been carrying lifted from her shoulders. If only she knew for certain that Fitz could stay, then things would be okay in Jemma Simmons’ world.

 

In the meantime though, just getting to be close to him again, to feel cared for and appreciated and maybe even adored, was enough. He still hadn’t answered her, despite her musing, and Jemma tipped her head, one eyebrow quirking. “Well?”

 

He quirked a slightly sleepy brow at her, and moving quickly, gave a playful tug to her elbow, bringing her crashing into his chest. He wrapped his arms about her waist, and brushing his nose against hers, teased, “I’ comes wit’ whatever ye wan’. Tha’s th’ Leo Fitz guarantee.”

 

He was so giddy, so ecstatic that she was being openly affectionate with him again, that he actually giggled a bit against her mouth as he pressed his lips to hers. She was new and familiar all at once, and Fitz felt a little thrill shoot down his spine as he learned what it was to kiss a happy, giggly Jemma Simmons. He kissed her until he thought he’d forgotten what it was to breathe, and even then, he only pulled away reluctantly.

 

“Wha’ about tha’, lass? Tha’ has t’ buy me a’ leas’ an hour o’ cuddlin’ time, no?”

 

Breathless and a little dazed, Jemma followed Fitz when he pulled back, tipping her forehead to rest against his. “An hour? I don’t know… I think I need another one of those to convince me,” she whispered, the soft smile still creasing her face. She wrinkled her nose again, but this time she ended up initiating the kiss, slower and yet more intimate than the first giddy one.

 

When she pulled back, Jemma rubbed her nose affectionately against his before shifting down a little to snuggle in against him. “Now that’s an hour’s worth,” she assured him. “And maybe a nap. I’m so glad finals are over.”

 

Fitz fought to regain control of his breathing after that kiss, running his hands up and down her back as she settled against him. Christ, if she kept that up, she very well might kill him before he had a chance to actually take her out on a date. He dropped a kiss to the top of her head and chuffed out a small, humorless laugh.

 

“Speak for yerself. I still have advanced mech tomorrow. Then I’m done.” He could feel his muscles relax, bit by bit, as his body acclimated to the feeling of having her in bed with him, her weight and gentle breathing a comfort he hadn’t realized he was missing. “Although,” his words slipped out around a yawn, “tha’s probably why Weaver doesnae wan’ t’ see me until Thursday. Give ‘em a chance t’ ge’ all my grades in an’ see if they wan’ t’ keep me or no’.”

 

Fitz had been aiming for humor, but even he realized that he’d missed the mark. There was no mistaking the nervous edge to his voice, the one that spoke of the clear possibility that he might not be allowed to return next semester.

 

The warmth of his hands radiated through the thin shirt he’d given her, Fitz’ body temperature running much higher than hers as always, and Jemma felt her muscles relaxing even under just those gentle strokes. Smiling again at the press of his lips in her hair, she curled an arm over Fitz’ side, hugging him closer to her.

 

“You can’t possibly be worried about the mech exam,” she exclaimed. “ _Fitz._ You could do that exam in your sleep and you know it.” Instead of replying to that though, he continued with his comment about Weaver wanting to see his grades. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, her face falling at his words and tone, “You can’t think that way. SHIELD would be crazy not to keep you. You’re bloody brilliant and have already come up with so many ideas they could be using…”

 

The happy buzz that had been slowly filling her since she’d crawled under the covers with Fitz slid away, leaving her feeling cold again, a full body shiver running through her.

 

Fitz didn’t answer her right away, not verbally at least. Instead, he elected to brush his nose against hers and lean in for another slow, sweet kiss. This was what he wanted to hold on to, the little moments like this, not the fear of what could come. Eventually, though, he knew he had to answer her, and so he pulled back from the kiss.

 

“I know, Jem, an’ I really dinnae think they'll sen’ me home t’ Glasgow… bu’ I’ll still worry about i’.” He kissed the tip of her nose and tried to give her his most winning smile. “I’s no’ S.H.I.E.L.D. I’m worried about losing, though. I’s ye. I’ would be jus’ my luck t’ find th’ perfec’ girl an’ then be forced t’ give her up because I was a bloody idiot.”

 

She reached up to cup his jaw, running her thumb down his cheek and brush against the corner of Fitz’ mouth. The false smile hurt more than anything, like he’d already given up and was just waiting for the blow to come down over his head. “Don’t. Don’t do that. You don’t have to pretend to be happy for my sake. I know this might not go well, and I don’t want to lose you either. They’ll give me another partner who’ll likely be useless, and I’ll have to reteach them stupid things like how to maintain a microscope.”

 

Jemma curled her arm back around Fitz and squeezed tight. “We’ll make it work, one way or another, right? We’re doing this. That was the promise almost a month ago when this first happened and it still means something now.”

 

He nodded, leaning into her hand as his eyes drifted close. Her words were reassuring, even though he could hear the slight tremor in her voice. Fitz brought a hand up, and tucking her hair behind her ear, whispered, “Yeah, Jem. I’s ye an’ me,” as he slanted his lips across hers. He wanted to lose himself in the kiss, and so he did, for as long as he could.

 

Aside from the times he absolutely had to separate himself from her, Fitz spent every moment he could with Jemma, be it cuddling in bed or holding her hand while he did his best to eat his normal share at meals. Still, what had started as a speck of worry on his periphery quickly became a nagging concern that ate away at him, so much so that by the time he was getting dressed for his meeting with Weaver he was nearly beyond caring whether he was put out; he just wanted it all to be over.

 

He carefully did up the buttons on his shirt, made sure it was tucked in evenly, and put a careful Pratt knot into his tie before tugging on a matching jumper. He patted his hair in the mirror, doing his best to make sure his usually unruly curls were set in place before he turned to face Jemma, perched on his bed and doing her best to watch him while not watching him. That tugged at the corners of his mouth a bit, and he tugged on his sleeves as what had been a smirk turned into an approximation of his usual grin.

 

“C’mon, lass,” he said, holding out a hand to her, “le’s go ge’ this over with.”

 

Jemma gave his hand a squeeze, but didn’t let him keep it, not when they were going out into public, and especially not going to Weaver’s office. Instead she stuck close to him, a quiet, worried shadow at Fitz’ side as she followed him across campus. She swallowed hard and pulled him into a little nook in the hallway of the administration building to hug him close. “I’m going to go back down to the lobby, I think. Text me when Weaver lets you out?”

 

There was a sick ball of nerves in her stomach, and Jemma thought she might be sick if she had to sit in the reception area of Weaver’s office, under the stern eyes of the older agent who was now her assistant. She bit at her lip as she drew back to look up at him.

 

Fitz swallowed around the lump in his throat, his fingers twitching where they had knitted into the thick material of her winter coat. He desperately wanted to keep her with him, wanted to know she was waiting for him when it was all said and done, but one look at her face told him he couldn’t do that to her. She was distraught as it was, and guilting her into the office with him would just be cruel. Instead, he just bit his lip and nodded, and with a quick kiss to her forehead, sent her on her way.

 

He was guided through Weaver’s door promptly at 2:30 by the same stern agent who had shown him in for his first interview what felt like ages ago. Fitz dropped stiffly into the same chair he’d sat in then, too, and did his best not to look impertinent while he waited for Agent Weaver to look up from her rapid typing.  

 

“Cadet Fitz,” Agent Weaver began when she focused on him, finally. The senior agent had far more pressing issues to handle at the close of the semester and honestly was ready to have this incident off her desk and done with. “I’ll make this short and simple. You will be allowed to continue at SciTech on a probationary basis for the next two semesters. Provided there are no incidents in the interim, you will continue your training here through graduation and continue into SciOps or whatever assignment the administration sees fit for you.”

 

“If there is another incident, and you had any part in instigating or provoking another student into an altercation, you’re out. No questions asked. SHIELD will provide you with no references or documentation of any training you may have received here.” She leveled a flat, serious look at him, wanting to be sure she was making herself very clear. “Regardless of whether you stay or go, your behavior over the past few weeks has been documented in your permanent file and will be taken into consideration for future decisions. I would strongly suggest that you make a concerted effort to contain your temper. SHIELD doesn’t look kindly on violent outbursts, especially when directed at fellow cadets or agents.”

 

There was series of faint dinging noises from Weaver’s computer, drawing her attention. Scowling at the screen and then back at Fitz, she raised an eyebrow in question. “Am I clear?”

 

His jaw worked up and down a few times, leaving him gaping a bit like a fish as he struggled to find the words to answer the director. Eventually, he got his tongue to work.

 

“Y-y-yes, Agent Weaver. I understand. Thank ye.”

 

He bolted for the door, moving as quickly as possible on the off chance she changed her mind and decided she wanted to kick him out anyway. He dug a hand into his pocket, and finding his phone, quickly tapped out a message to Jemma.

 

Jemma (02:41 PM): I’m out. Still in the lobby?

 

He dashed down the stairs, the emotions running through him leaving him too rattled to wait for the lift, and practically skidded across the marble floors in the lobby, his head turning from side to side as he scanned the area for Jemma’s familiar form.

 

Jemma had retreated to the small coffee bar in the building next door, wanting something to do with her hands. Not expecting him to be done so soon, she was just turning away from the counter with coffee and a muffin when her phone buzzed in her pocket.   
  


Juggling the cup and bag, she tugged it out and frowned at the screen, tapping the voice to text button so she didn’t have to type.

 

Leo (02:42 PM): Got coffee. Be there in a second.

 

She hurried out and to the other building, terrified that Agent Weaver had basically called him in and said ‘Go pack your things’ then shoved him out of her office again. Jemma’s fingers were white knuckled around the coffee mug, her hazel eyes searching him out as she approached the steps, seeing him already outside and looking around.

 

“Fitz?” she called, realizing he hadn’t spotted her yet.

 

He turned at the sound of her voice, finally spotting her near the bottom of the steps. He trotted down them, picking up speed as he went until he practically crashed into her, his arms automatically finding their way around her waist. He hugged her tight to his chest, lifting her off the ground just the slightest bit as he brushed a kiss against her cheek.

 

“Pick wha’ever restaurant ye like, Jem,” he said as he set her down, a slightly giddy, manic look in his eye. “We’re celebratin’ tonigh’.”

 

“You’re staying?” Jemma asked incredulously, but there was no other result that could have produced that expression on his face. Not when the alternative was leaving SciTech. She stared up at him, her eyes searching his face, only to fling her arms around his neck and pull him in for another, much less giddy, hug. “Oh, god,” she murmured, “I was terrified that I’d ruined everything for you.”

 

Jemma let him go and sighed, giving him a tentative smile. “You’re the one who got the good news, you pick.”

 

Fitz nodded, his mind working to come up with a suitable place to take Jemma. It was his first chance to get to take her out, really take her out, and he didn’t want to squander it. In the past they’d have gone to the diner to celebrate, but that wouldn’t do today. Then he hit on it, and as impossible as it seemed, the corners of his mouth tugged up even further. Placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, he turned her in the direction of the dorm and began to guide her there, his arm wrapped loosely about her shoulders.

 

“I think I’ve go’ jus’ th’ place,” he promised. “I’s tiny, an’ kind o’ far from campus, bu’ I think ye’ll like i’. I’s a little more posh than jeans an’ a jumper, bu’ no’ over th’ top either.” He gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her shoulders, bringing her closer to him. “I promise, i’s no’ over th’ top! C’mon, le’s get back. Ye can change an’ I can call Jenkins an’ ask t’ borrow th’ car.”

 

His happiness was infectious, and Jemma relaxed enough to let him keep his arm around her shoulders as he ushered her back to the dorm. “What are you considering ‘not over the top’?” Jemma questioned. “Are we talking a dress, a blouse and skirt, or what?” There were varying levels of dressy in her closet, thank goodness, not that she’d ever expected to be wearing any of it on what she was considering a date.

 

Once they got up to her dorm room - hers alone, since Sonja had packed up her things the day before and vanished back to her boyfriend’s for the winter holidays - Jemma directed Fitz toward a red envelope on the bookshelf in the common area. “That’s for you. It was meant to be a birthday and Christmas present, but I’ve got time to pick out something else. I think you could use a congratulations present right now,” she said with a little laugh. If she knew Fitz, he’d be thrilled.

 

Fitz eyed her curiously as he made his way to the bookcase and gingerly picked up the red envelope. He turned it over in his fingertips, testing its weight, before working a finger beneath the flap as he called out to her.

 

“I’m goin’ like this, if tha’ gives ye an idea o’ wha’ I consider ‘no’ over th’ top.’” He spared a quick glance down at his outfit, trying to remember what Jenkins had been wearing when he’d taken that girl from the nuclear physics department to the same place. He pulled out his phone and shot of a quick text, asking his roommate the name of the restaurant, double checking the dress code, and if he could borrow the car.

 

He’d barely had a chance to turn his attention back to the envelope when he got a response.

 

Fitzie (03:02 PM): Coppa. You’ll be fine in anything but a hoodie.

Fitzie (03:02 PM): And you owe me for like, two tanks of gas, btw.

 

He grinned down at the phone. He owed Jenkins for a lot more than two tanks of gas, but if that’s all he wanted, Fitz wouldn’t complain. That settled, he turned his attention back to the red envelope, quickly ripping it open so he could see what was inside.

 

His heart stopped at the front of the card, a sleek red Gallardo that Fitz would kill to get his hands on. He flipped it over, and as he scanned the writing on the back, his giddiness grew triple fold. She had gotten him a chance to test drive cars. Not just cars, but fast, exotic cars that would cling to the road and let him fly all at the same time. He was happy, shocked beyond all words, not only because of what she’d gotten him, but because she knew him so damn well.

 

Perfect woman indeed.

 

Jemma was leaning in the doorway to her room, watching the shift of his expression as he read the card. She’d changed into a sweater dress, a gray knit that was super-soft to the touch and belted at the waist, with tights and knee-high boots beneath. A little self-conscious, she folded her arms over her chest, tucking her hands in to hide her fidgety fingers. “Sonja’s boyfriend works for them. He said to tell you to book the last appointment of the day, and he’ll show you around their shop and stable after the driving part.”

 

He looked up at Jemma, ready to exclaim over the gift, but was knocked off of that plan when he caught sight of her.

 

She looked beautiful, face ducked down, a bit bashful if the pink in her cheeks was anything to go by, but clearly pleased with his reaction to her gift. He went to her, and wrapping her in his arms, tucked her under his chin.

 

“I’s perfec’, Jem. I love i’.” He brushed a quick kiss over her lips, and couldn’t keep himself from grinning, even then. “Ye can come wit’ me, righ’? I’ says on th’ back I can take a second rider wit’ me if I wan’.”

He bit his lip, trying not to look too hopeful. He knew she wasn’t as titillated by fast, well made machines as he was, but still, he wanted her with him, if only so they could spend more time together.

 

Jemma snuggled into his hold, pleased that he was happy with the gift. “I was thinking you’d take Jenkins along - I mean, you do owe him for using his car all the time - but if you want me to go, I can do that, too.” She hugged Fitz back then let him go, disappearing into her bathroom for a few minutes to add a little more makeup than her usual light everyday wear and check her hair, adding a silver pendant to be framed by the draped neck of the dress.

 

“Is Jenkins bringing the car over, or do we need to walk to your dorm?” she asked, returning to the commons to pull her warmer coat out, figuring if they were going to dinner they’d be late getting home. The December weather in Boston was downright frigid compared to what they usually got at home in England, and though what she had on was warmer than all the other options, it still wasn’t great.

 

Fitz was still toying with the card in his hand, thinking that Jemma was probably right, Jenkins would be a better person to take along. He was thinking about giving his roommate a call, when he suddenly realized that she was still speaking to him.

 

“Wha’? Oh..” his brain finally dislodged itself from the idea of zipping along winding mountain roads to focus in on Jemma again. “...um, I though’ we could walk over t’ mine an’ ge’ the car. I’ jus’ isnae fair t’ Jenkins t’ ask for th’ car an’ make him deliver i’, too.” Fitz watched Jemma hesitate a bit as she grabbed her winter coat, and he quickly back peddled. “If i’s too cold, I could always go ge’ th’ car an’ come back for ye.”

 

She tipped her head to give him a look before shaking her head. Jemma appreciated that he was trying to take care of her, but she really didn’t need it. “If there was snow on the ground, I might take you up on that. It’s just cold though, I’ll be fine.” If there’d been snow, she’d never have put on the boots. Even the little heel on them would have been disastrous.

 

Jemma glanced over at the clock and frowned, glancing at him and then her coat. “It’s still early, anyway. Do we have to leave right now?”

 

Fitz glanced at the clock, and found himself a bit startled to see that it wasn’t even 4 pm. In his excitement at being allowed to stay, combined with the opportunity to take Jemma out had caused him to get ahead of himself.

 

“No, we dinnae have t’ leave righ’ this minute.” He flopped onto the sofa as he spoke, some of the energy that had been winding him up draining out. “We can jus’ hang out a bit if ye wan’.”

 

Jemma couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face. In the past few weeks, Fitz had gotten used to making himself at home in her dorm, the same as she’d done in his months before when Sonja had her previous boyfriend here all the time. Setting her coat aside, Jemma took a moment to peel the boots off her feet, padding over to the couch. “Budge over,” she murmured, perching on the edge of the couch. With the way he’d sprawled across both cushions there was no room for her.

 

Once he’d shifted, Jemma stretched out next to him, careful to make sure the dress didn’t ride up too terribly far. The last thing she needed was for them to get ahead of themselves - and she definitely wasn’t certain she was ready for anything beyond the kissing and cuddling they’d been doing so far. “Thank goodness you can stay,” she said softly, propping her chin up on her hand. “I’d have felt terrible that I’d gotten you kicked out. And missed you horribly, of course.”

 

Fitz toed off his own dress shoes as she settled in next to him, allowing them to drop off over the edge of the sofa before resting his hand on her waist. His thumb slowly traced along the seam of her dress, and he was fascinated by how soft it was. The dress, like seemingly everything else about her, made him want to hold her close, and so he did, tucking her into his side as he rested his chin on her shoulder.

 

“I’m glad, too, lass, bu’ please stop doin’ tha’.” He brushed a kiss along her cheek to take the sting from his admonishment. “ _I_ did wha’ I did. Ye dinnae make me do anythin’. So, please dinnae try t’ keep takin’ blame for i’. Particularly now tha’ we know I ge’ t’ stay. I’ll have t’ be careful as long as I’m a par’ o’ S.H.I.E.L.D., bu’ tha’s all righ’. I did i’ t’ myself.”

 

He hugged her a little tighter, and tucking his head into her neck, confessed, “An’ I’d miss ye, too, lass. I’m spoiled, gettin’ t’ see ye as often as I do. Even jus’ bein’ off campus would be hard.”

 

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Jemma replied, her expression serious. “But it’s over, I think, and we can mostly forget about it.” She knew it’d be a long while before she wasn’t so nervous around people, even with Harris gone. And Fitz would have Weaver’s note in his file for the rest of his tenure with SHIELD.

 

After a moment, she moved her hand to slide into Fitz’ hair, playing with the short bits at the back of his neck where was hiding against her. “Well, we don’t have to think about that anymore. As long as you watch your temper, at least, you grumpy Scot,” Jemma teased.

 

Her teasing fingers in his hair caused him to shudder a bit before relaxing more fully against her, a soft sigh puffing past his lips even as they quirked upwards.

 

“I’m no’ _tha’_ grumpy, am I?” His voice held a hint of a smile, letting her know he wasn’t upset, but just in case she didn’t understand that, Fitz pressed a soft kiss to the pale column of her throat. He shifted to nuzzle her jaw before pressing a kiss just below her ear, too, and whispering, “Or, a’ leas’, tell me ye dinnae mind havin’ a grumpy Scot around.”

 

“No, I dinna min’ havin’ a grumpy Sco’ aroun’,” Jemma said, trying to imitate his accent and likely failing miserably. She giggled at her own silliness and returned to her regular voice. “I like having you around, Leo. I’d think you know that by now. I mean… it’s been months and I haven’t told you to go away yet, have I?”

 

As soon as she said it, she remembered the morning after her attack when she _had_ told him to go… But that hadn’t been because of him, it’d been because of her. Well. Hopefully he’d forgive her that little oversight, because as far as she could remember it was the only time she’d ever hurried him out of her company.

 

Fitz chuckled at her imitation of his accent, amused by the fact that she’d even venture an attempt. “We’ll have t’ work on tha’ a bi’, lass,” he told her, leveraging himself up on an arm so he could get a better look at her.

 

Jemma’s face fell as soon as she’d finished speaking, and Fitz knew the exact reason why. She’d told him to get away from her once before, and although he knew she’d been suffering after her attack, that hadn’t stopped it from stinging a bit. She hadn’t been thinking clearly then, and she was now, but still…

 

“‘Yet’ bein’ th’ operative word, though, righ’?” He flashed her a wry twist of his lips before leaning down to press them against her forehead. “I bes’ no’ mess up then.”

 

Her tense expression eased when he casually brushed aside her concern without even having to say anything. Fitz’ fingers were still lingering at her waist, and she could feel the rub of them over the soft weave of her dress. That, combined with the touch of his lips against her skin, encouraged her to relax, the soft smile returning to her face.

 

“You’re just lucky that I’m not too demanding, or I might be tempted to take advantage of that,” Jemma teased again. Shifting up a little, she settled against the arm of the couch, letting Fitz snuggle against her for once, instead of the other way around.

 

Fitz shifted with Jemma, wedging himself more firmly between her body and the back of the sofa, and rested his cheek against her collarbone. His fingers kept up their gentle pattern, and he closed his eyes, humming in contentment as Jemma’s fingers resumed their teasing of the fine curls at the nape of his neck.

 

Her silly, throwaway comment rolled around his head, and he blushed as he realized how little there was that he could refuse her. Other than maybe cheating on an exam or hurting his mum, he likely wouldn’t actively deny Jemma Simmons anything.

 

“Deman’ away, lass,” he told her honestly, his voice a bit slow as he let himself drift along a bit with the easy feeling of her fingers in his hair. “Jus’ keep doin’ wha’ ye’re doin’... although, on secon’ though’, maybe no’. I migh’ jus’ fall asleep here if ye keep tha’ up.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

Jemma’s fingers tightened at the back of his neck when Fitz nuzzled against the cowl-neck of the dress, exposing her collarbone and then nuzzling against it before settling down. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get accustomed to the warmth of his breath or the soft touch of his lips on her skin. It still surprised her that she welcomed it from him when no one else could get close to her, especially now. 

“We have time for a nap,” Jemma put in with a quiet laugh. “It’s been a long day, or at least it feels like it. We both spent the morning distracted and worried.” Dinner could happen late if it needed to - Jemma was more worried about enjoying his presence now that she knew she could keep him. Prior to this, part of the reason she’d been resisting being too close was the fear that he’d have to leave and them not being able to make the distance work, even just being in different parts of the city. 

Fitz was a bit torn. 

He very much wanted to take her out on an actual date; it wasn’t that the cuddling and talking and kissing they’d been doing didn’t mean anything to him, but rather he felt she deserved more. Jemma deserved to be taken out, not hidden away in her room. On the other hand, he was incredibly comfortable, and she had said she’d be okay with it…

He shook off the thought, giving his head an actual shake in the process. They could sleep later. Fitz had a feeling neither of them would be letting the other out of their sight for quite a while as it was. 

“I can manage t’ stay awake for a bi’,” he declared, his words nearly lost in the soft fabric of her dress. “I’s winter hols anyway. We can sleep as much as we wan’ for th’ nex’ month. I can hold off a few hours.” He lifted his head a bit so he could look her in the eye. “Besides, I’m no’ much company for ye if I fall asleep, am I?” While it was true that they knew plenty about each other, Fitz didn’t want to stop discovering Jemma, either, her little quirks and habits, and he couldn’t do that if he spent most of his time around her passed out on her shoulder. 

Jemma would really have been okay either way. She’d never really had anyone to cuddle with before and she was finding that it made her less apt to chatter, just to be quiet and relax - neither of which Jemma Simmons had ever been known for. Tucked away in her dorm with Fitz, there was no pressure to be anything but herself, no need to impress anyone. She didn’t have to prove herself to Fitz, she already had. 

“If you’re sure…” Jemma murmured. She tipped her head to rest against his curls, rubbing affectionately like a cat before she caught herself and stilled with a small laugh at herself. If you’d asked Jemma what her favorite physical thing about Fitz was, she couldn’t have decided between his hair, his eyes or his hands. Any one of the three could distract her at any given time. 

Drawing her attention back to the conversation, she sighed softly. “Probably shouldn’t have laid down, then. What do you want to do? Watch a movie? Have a Mario Kart rematch on the Wii?”

He chuckled at her slightly regretful tone, stretching a bit as he did so. She’d beaten him rather soundly the last time he’d challenged her to Mario Kart, and the memory of the way she’d smiled in triumph still made him grin even as his bruised male ego whined at him.

“No’ Mario Kart, lass. I dinnae think my ego coul’ take another beatin’ like tha’. Pick a movie, though. I’ll message Jenkins, tell him tha’ we’ll pick up th’ car a little later than expected.” As much as he regretted having to do it, Fitz shifted off her a bit so they could move off the couch if they needed. “Wha’ did ye wan’ t’ watch? I’d offer t’ go through my laptop, but I dinnae bring i’ with me t’ th’ meetin’.”

Jemma’s brows drew together, a line appearing between them. “You’d have won if you hadn’t gotten cocky on Rainbow Road,” she protested. “We’re probably pretty evenly matched, really.” 

Still, if he didn’t want to play, she wouldn’t force him to. Jemma shifted to slip away from him, going to fetch one of the binders of DVDs she kept rather than piles of cases. The dress forced her to kneel on the floor, leaning over to look at the discs as she flipped through, rather than sitting cross-legged with it in her lap. 

Too sad, too dramatic, too… Jemma quickly flipped past options, discarding them for various reasons. Eventually she bookmarked a page with her finger, then continued on, but she came back to the original choice eventually. She slid the DVD into the player and grabbed the remote before heading back to the couch, frowning when she realized he’d sat up. She eyed him for a moment before curling up in the space he’d left for her, laying her head in Fitz’ lap. 

Fitz forced himself to sit up in the hopes of shaking off some of his lingering weariness. Despite her disappointed expression, he couldn’t help but be pleased when she laid back down and rested her head in his lap. His fingers found their way into her hair, combing the soft strands out across his lap. He smiled at the way she relaxed against him. 

“So, wha’ are we watchin’, Jem?” He kept one hand busy in her hair as he skimmed the other over her shoulder and down her arm, coming to rest on her waist. He drummed his fingers there lightly, beginning to fidget as he woke up bit by bit. 

Jemma was almost distracted enough by the feeling of his fingers carding through her hair that she forgot to press play and actually start the movie. His quiet question reminded her, and she pressed the button before glancing up at him. “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. I thought something with a bit of action was in order,” she answered. Jemma had her share of romantic comedies and drama in her collection, but she’d been sticking to her more ‘guy-friendly’ movies when her and Fitz settled down to watch something. 

“Have you seen this before?” she queried, glancing at where Fitz’ fingers were fidgeting at her waist and wrinkling her nose as she looked back up at him with a smile. “You really like this dress, hm? You can’t stop touching it.” Jemma caught his hand and laced their fingers together, moving them both to lay comfortably over her chest, his arm draped over her shoulder. 

Fitz chuckled a bit and flushed, embarrassed at being called out for his inability to keep his hands to himself around her. The pink tinging his cheeks deepened, however, when she shifted their hands. He didn’t think Jemma even realized where she had moved their hands, and he felt his heart beat pick up as his fingers just barely brushed the swell of her breast. 

He couldn’t keep his hand there, not at the moment at least. As gently as he could, he disengaged their fingers and moved his arm to settle around her middle, careful to keep his fingers still since it had seemed to bother her. “I’s less t’ do wit’ th’ dress, Jemma, an’ more t’ do wit’ th’ girl wearin’ i’.” He splayed his fingers wide across her belly, stretching the digits a bit before letting his hand go lax against her. 

He felt her back go a bit stiff against him, and guessing at why, offered a simple explanation. “I like holdin’ yer hand, bu’ I really willnae wan’ t’ go t’ dinner if ye le’ me keep my hand there.”

Her cheeks flushed pink at his quiet denial of the reason for his fidgeting, ducking and sending her hair sliding forward to curtain her face only to freeze when Fitz tugged his hand away from her. Had she done something wrong? 

She nearly choked when she realized what he meant about not wanting to go to dinner, but at the same time she didn’t want to let go of that small contact. Jemma pulled his hand up again, tucking it up just under her chin. It meant he was touching the bare skin over her collarbones, but seemed to be safely away from anything too tempting. 

“Shush, and watch the movie,” she murmured, still faintly embarrassed. 

He did his best to follow her directive and keep his eyes on the screen as the movie played out, but Fitz simply couldn’t keep his gaze from drifting down to her, or his hands still. He ran the fingers of his free hand through her tresses once more, first taking them from her face and then just twining strands about his fingers. As for the hand Jemma had caught up in her own, his thumb stroked gentle arcs over the delicate skin there, fascinated by the softness of her. 

Despite Fitz’ earlier comments about not wanting to nap, Jemma felt herself drifting a little as he played with her hair, her eyes half-closed. It wasn’t until the rough callus on the pad of his thumb skimmed the indistinguishable line between her neck and shoulder, dipping into the hollow over her clavicle that she shivered, fingers tightening around his. “Fiiiiitz,” she whined, but her voice was soft. “That’s not fair.” 

Fitz grinned, her little shiver lighting something mischievous in him, and he repeated the motion once more. He took a moment to appreciate the way her breath hitched and her fingers clenched against his own before murmuring, “Wha’s no’ fair, hmm?” 

He quickly plastered his most innocent expression on to his face when she glanced at him, and held her gaze as he repeated the motion a third time. 

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, her gaze hazy and distant when the hazel irises were visible again. Jemma curled a little further forward, hiding her face again, but she didn’t make him move his hand, accepting the teasing. It simply felt too good to make him stop, between the warmth of his skin on hers and the almost tender way his thumb was skimming the delicate area. 

Jemma had seen this movie enough times that she didn’t have to pay too close of attention, which was a good thing. Otherwise she’d have been more annoyed at the way his touch distracted her, idly wondering how that same touch might feel elsewhere on her body. Except that inevitably led Jemma’s thoughts back to Harris. 

Sighing softly, she shifted against Fitz’ thigh, trying not to let on that her mood had slid into a dark place. She didn’t want him to stop, Jemma just wanted to let him soothe her back into the easy, warm, affectionate place she’d just been.

Fitz' attention had drifted back to the movie, losing himself a bit in the fantasy of a treasure hunting professor when he felt her shift against him. He glanced down in time to catch a hint of a dark look cross her face, and found himself frowning just a bit. Something was off, and while she hadn't said anything indicating that she expected him to fix it, Fitz very much wanted to. 

He watched Jemma for a moment before he bent at the waist to brush a few gentle kisses across her forehead. He sat up, and giving her a little smile, squeezed her fingers between his before resuming the tender stroke along her neck. “Ye know,” he began, voice pitched low, “we have an entire month t’ ourselves here before spring term. We shoul’ plan wha’ we wan’ t’ do an’ where we wan’ t’ go over th’ nex’ few weeks.” 

“And Christmas, your birthday and New Year’s,” Jemma agreed, thankful for the distraction. Tipping her head, she pressed a kiss to his knuckles where their hands were still nestled in under her chin. “I hadn’t wanted to think too hard about it, in case you didn’t get to stay. I thought maybe you’d go back to Scotland right away.” 

Her voice was soft and thoughtful, taking his comment seriously now that she could. “We don’t have to stay in Boston, either. There’s a train system, we could go to New York or Washington for a few days. I think I’d like to see a show or two. Maybe the museums.” She tipped her head to look up at him, trying to determine if he was okay with the idea. 

He smiled down at her, pleased to see that she seemed to be moving past whatever it was that had been weighing on her moments ago. The thought of spending the entire holiday with Jemma thrilled him as visions of being holed up with her, far from campus and everything that had happened over the past month, ran through his mind. He had some money saved up, stuff he’d earned working in his uncle’s shop back home. There were worse ways to spend it than a getaway with Jemma. 

“New York sounds nice,” he conceded, his smile fading as his expression turned thoughtful. “I think I can swing a few days if ye really wan’ t’ go.” He was trying to puzzle out how he could afford the trip. It would take some doing, but if he looked hard enough, he could find deals for the two of them. 

Jemma shrugged. The money was the least of her worries. “No need to swing anything. Mum and Dad have been putting money in an account for me all semester - I’ve hardly touched it,” she said easily. There was over three thousand in the account the last time she’d looked, and Jemma certainly hadn’t needed to use it since she’d been here outside of buying groceries now and then. It wasn’t like she was out partying or shopping extravagantly. 

Well, not counting Fitz’ present. That had made a dent in her balance, but not so much that she couldn’t afford a few nights in New York and a couple of train tickets. 

She shifted onto her back, brushing the skirt of her dress down her legs when it tried to ride up her thighs. “Let’s spend the holidays here and go to New York in early January?” 

Fitz felt his thoughts come grinding to a halt. 

He’d never even considered her family situation, although to be fair, they had rarely spoken about family, other than a passing comment here or there. He knew her parents had traveled the globe for their jobs, and that she had had a rather eclectic childhood, but he’d never stopped to consider that to sustain such a lifestyle some serious money would be required. 

Part of him, the part that hadn’t allowed him to accept a favor from anyone for the majority of his young life, wanted to refuse her outright. But before that part of him could grab hold of his tongue and ruin the moment, he stopped, taking in the hopeful expression on her face. He couldn’t say no to her, not when she made that face. 

Instead, he bent over again, this time to kiss her soundly, albeit a tad awkwardly, given the unusual angle, and answered, “Sure. Tha’ sounds good. But we spli’ costs, yeah?”

Jemma wasn’t stupid, she caught the expression on his face before his lips met hers. Even though he distracted her with the kiss, she wasn’t derailed from the conversation. When Fitz released her mouth, she sat up to cuddle in close to his side. “Split everything but the hotel?” she tried negotiating. “It was my idea and I feel like I should pay for that.” 

She also had some experience with city hotels and how expensive they could be for even a decent place. Jemma wasn’t sure Fitz would be counting on his half being over $500 for just a few days, and she was fairly sure that while he had some money put away, it wasn’t a lot. From what he’d told her of his family, they got by, but they didn’t have much extra. She tipped her head against his shoulder and looked up at him, her expression pleading. “Please?”

I’s no’ fair, Fitz thought as she fixed him with that pleading expression. How was he supposed to resist Jemma when she was so warm against his side, her lips slightly swollen from his kisses as bright hazel eyes rooted him to the spot? He gave a soft sigh as he pushed his pride to the side, yielding to her with a nod and yet another kiss. He was plainly a man lost. 

“Tha’s fine, lass,” he whispered in the scant distance between their lips as he pulled back. “Bu’ no complainin’ when I spoil ye on yer birthday.” He grinned as he already started scheming for her, only to pull up short. He wasn’t even sure when her birthday was. Holy hell. 

“Chris’, I dinnae even know yer birthday…” Fitz trailed off, more than a tad embarrassed as his cheeks began to turn pink. “I dinnae suppose ye’d take mercy on me an’ tell me when i’ is? So I can plan, is all.”

Jemma started to return his grin, pleased that he’d agreed, only to falter when his expression fell, even his bright eyes dimming. Immediately worried, she started to ask what was wrong but then he continued and she suddenly understood. “Oh, Leo…” she sighed, but she was laughing a little too. “You’re a darling, you know that?” Of all the things for him to be worried over, he wanted to fuss because he didn’t know her birthday. There were so many things to learn about each other, they were bound to find blank spots in their shared knowledge. 

She reached up to lay her hand over his cheek, drawing him down for a soft kiss before drawing back to give him an amused look, wrinkling her nose again. “You missed it. I remember it quite vividly though. It was the day you got so angry with me about the cat liver. September 11th. Perhaps I should have asked before, but hopefully you don’t mind dating an older woman?” 

Still flushed with pleasure from the endearment and her tender touch, Fitz nearly missed the answer to his question, although he blanched as soon as he processed it. 

“No,” he gasped, half in shock and half in amusement. “Tell me I wasnae such a prat t’ ye on yer birthday.” He chuckled as Jemma smiled and shook her head, her own mirth pushing away any lingering mortification he might have felt. “Oh, hell, i’s a wonder ye even kep’ speakin’ t’ me.” The words dropped off of his lips with a soft chuckle. Even Fitz, who hated being laughed at, could admit that the situation was rather amusing. 

He reached up, and covering the hand she had laid on his cheek with his own, turned to kiss her palm before answering her second question. “An’ as long as i’s ye I’m datin’, I dinnae give a damn how old ye are.” 

“Oh yes. You were a complete prat to me on my birthday,” Jemma said, unable to resist teasing him after that horrified expression. “I didn’t have any friends here yet and then I had you yelling at me about a stray sample. It was just a liver, after all. Needless to say, it wasn’t an especially wonderful birthday. So you’ll have to make that up to me somehow,” she added, the smile on her face letting him know she wasn’t really upset. 

While she’d been rather miserable that day, she hadn’t blamed Fitz. She’d been away from home, in a foreign country and quite alone. A spat with the odd Scottish boy who’d been assigned as her lab partner had hardly been a blip at that point. 

At his last statement, Jemma blushed pink and ducked her head against Fitz’ shoulder, pleased and yet a little embarrassed at his firm, confident tone. 

Fitz tilted his head to rest against hers, a disbelieving smile still stretching his lips as he whispered in her ear, “Trus’ me, I’ll be sure t’ make i’ up t’ ye.” He chuckled when he noticed her blush, and stopped to nuzzle her cheek a bit before sitting back. The end credits were rolling on the movie, and a quick glance at the clock revealed that it was now nearly 7 pm. 

“Wha’ d’ ye think, Jem?” he asked, gesturing to the clock. “Ye ready t’ go ge’ th’ car from Jenkins?” 

Jemma looked over at the clock too, and nodded before sitting up and fumbling for the remote. After turning the movie and TV off, she got up to pad into her bathroom. A quick glance in her mirror had her grabbing her hairbrush to straighten her mussed hair. Wrinkling her nose at her reflection, Jemma sighed. She was destined to always be ‘cute’, never ‘beautiful’. 

Bringing the hairbrush with her to put into her small purse, she rejoined Fitz in the commons and sat to put her boots back on. “Traffic should have died down by now too,” she said, glancing up at him. “You said the restaurant is on the other side of the city?” 

Fitz nodded in response, too distracted watching Jemma to actually answer her question. It wasn’t until she looked back up at him, clearly waiting for a response, that he found his tongue. “Yea’, i’ is. C’mon,” he reached out his hand to her, “I’ll tell ye abou’ i’ on th’ way.”

He folded his hand around hers as soon as she locked her door, and he kept it there as they walked across campus. “I’s an Italian place, Jenkins recommended i’ a while ago, when I-” Fitz froze, unsure if he should continue, although he knew he couldn't leave that hanging there without finishing the thought. So, he cleared his throat and bit the bullet, plunging on. “When I firs’ started t’ think about takin’ ye on a date.” He felt himself flush, even though he wasn’t sure why he found the idea particularly embarrassing. It wasn’t as if Jemma didn’t know how he felt about her now. 

Fortunately, he was saved from his embarrassment by their arrival at his building, and was able to distract himself by hustling her inside and up the stairs. 

Jemma let Fitz usher her inside, but she made a note to ask him about his comment later, when he wasn’t so flustered. However, once she reached his dorm, she was the one who ended up flustered at the catcall that came from the living room. 

“Ow! Kennedy, come look! Simmons is in a dress and she looks hot!” Jenkins called out from their sofa, grinning at Jemma. Thankfully for Jemma’s nerves, his tone was playful rather than lecherous, although it still set her cheeks burning. She didn’t want to think how she might have reacted at genuine interest from another man, given the past few weeks. 

Instead she glared at the older cadet, although there was little heat behind it. “Shush. I’m not wearing it for you. Either of you,” she added when Kennedy’s head poked around the door to his room. 

“Enough, ye two,” Fitz chided, although there was a bit more heat behind his words than was strictly necessary. “She’s no’ here t’ entertain th’ unwashed masses.” He grinned at them, trying to take any of the sting out of his words. He found himself rather foolishly pleased with Jemma’s response, particularly the implication that she had perhaps dressed with him in mind. 

He ducked into his room to drop off the card and gift certificate she’d given him, and quickly rejoined them in the commons area. He sidled up next to Jemma, feeling a tad possessive despite knowing that his roommates were only teasing, and allowed his hand to come to a rest on the small of her back as he invaded her personal space a bit.

“D’ ye min’ if I use th’ car?” He looked at Jenkins expectantly, and he watched as his roommate dug into his pocket and flipped him the keys. Fitz caught them, and slipping them into his own pocket, nodded his thanks and guided Jemma to the door. “We shouldnae be too long,” he promised, “an’ I’ll return th’ keys before I walk Jemma home.” With that, he held the door open to   
let Jemma slip through ahead of him.

“Have fun, you two! And, hey, be careful! We don’t need any babies conceived in the back of the car! Keep in mind that we all sit there,” he heard Kennedy call after them as he and Jenkins erupted in laughter. Fitz felt his ears burn again, and kept his gaze directed at the floor, even as the door clicked shut, dimming the sound of their mirth. 

Jemma stilled and caught the door just before it latched, sticking her head back in. “Just remember who keeps you supplied with baked goods, boys. I’d hate to start feeling like I was unappreciated,” she said sassily, before rejoining Fitz in the hallway, closing the door to the sound of a disappointed groan from Jenkins. 

She smiled up at Fitz and curled her hand around his elbow. “You and I both know nothing is going to happen in the car. Right?” Her eyebrow rose expectantly. They weren’t anywhere near that point in their relationship, even if she wasn’t still dealing with the aftermath of her experience with Harris. He didn’t say anything, and her fingers tightened around his arm as they walked back toward the stairs. “Right?” she asked again, her voice less confident this time. 

Fitz was lost in his own world, trying to will his blush to fade and mentally listing the various ways, both lethal and non, that he could make his roommates pay for that comment. Ever since it had accidentally slipped that he was only moderately experienced with girls, neither Kennedy nor Jenkins had let it go, teasing him constantly, particularly where Jemma was concerned. He should have expected their teasing tonight, but he hadn’t braced for it. 

Still, it wasn’t until he felt her fingers dig a little more firmly into his arm that he realized she’d asked him something. He stopped them in the hallway, and turning her to face him, answered, “Jemma, nothin’ happens until we’re both ready for i’. All I expec’ tonigh’ is dinner an’ t’ spend some time wit’ ye. Promise.”

“So if you know that… and I know that…” Jemma said easily, affectionately amused at the deep flush on his skin - his ears were still red, even though the color on his cheeks was quickly fading, “Why are we worried about what your idiot roommates have to say about it?” 

She matched his pace as they walked down the stairs, careful in her boots. That little bout of sassiness had come from nowhere, and she was pleased with herself. It was the first time since the incident that she hadn’t shied away or gone silent at a hint of teasing. “I meant what I said. If they give us too hard a time, I’ll stop baking for them.” 

The tension that had come along with his momentary embarrassment drained a bit, and he managed to give her a genuine smile as he opened the car door for her. He shut it softly after she slid in, and an idea began percolating as moved to climb in behind the wheel. 

“Ye know,” he began as he turned the key in the ignition and shifted into drive, “we coul’ always try t’ scare th’ hell ou’ o’ them…” He cut his eyes toward her and then at the back seat before focusing on getting them out of the lot. “If ye wanted t’, tha’ is.”

Jemma followed his gaze to the back seat and then his line of thought, but shook her head after a second’s consideration. “No. No, let’s not. They’ll tease us enough without giving them ammunition,” she said quietly. She twined her fingers together in her lap, oddly a little nervous now about going on an actual date with Fitz. 

Still, she kept up easy conversation with him until they arrived at the restaurant, a small place in what looked like an old row house that had been renovated. Jemma was rather glad that it wasn’t some posh place. It was nice, certainly not a jeans and t-shirt type restaurant, but not uncomfortably so. Her simple dress would fit in easily, which made her feel a little bit better. “I wonder how Jenkins found this place.”

Fitz lifted his eyebrow, silently asking if she was serious, as he shut off the engine and stepped around to help her out. “Really, Jemma? Ye’ve seen th’ girls he parades through our place. Ye have t’ ask how he foun’ this place?” He shut the door behind her, maintaining his grip on her hand even so, and led them into the restaurant. 

“Uh, two, please,” he murmured to the hostess, and after giving her his name, turned back to Jemma. The reality of everything came crashing down on him in that moment. He was allowed to stay at SciTech. Jemma Simmons, for whatever unimaginable reason, not only wanted to spend time with him, but was also willing to kiss him. And even better, she’d agreed to both go on a date with him, and they were planning a trip to New York for a few days. He grinned, feeling luckier than he’d been in years, and moved closer to slip an arm about her waist, pulling her to his side. 

She gave him a bit of a surprised look, and he just brushed a kiss against her cheek in response. He was allowed to hold her now, and he was going to, come hell or high water. 

“So,” he asked, voiced pitched low so only she could hear him in the crowded entryway, “shoul’ we talk about New York some more? Wha’ exactly did ye wan’ t’ see?” 

“I know he dates a lot, but this is awfully far out of the way, don’t you think?” Jemma glanced around as she unbuttoned her coat, instantly too warm in the heated entranceway. His arm came around her while her eyes were focused on the closures and she glanced up at him in surprised, only for him to change the subject to New York. 

Jemma’s eyes lit up. “I was looking at the list of what’s playing right now, but I didn’t decide on anything. We can look at it later and pick a few things?” she suggested, drawing away long enough to shrug out of the coat, but her voice was happy and bubbly... “There’s quite a lot of other things to see and do. It might end up being a very busy few days!” 

It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Harris was leaving, Fitz was staying, the holidays were coming up, they had a month off from the Academy, and Jemma was planning a trip away with her boyfriend. She blushed at the thought, realizing it was the first time she’d deliberately thought of him that way. Folding the coat over her arm, she tucked herself back in against his shoulder. “When are you planning to use your birthday present?” 

“Honestly, I’m no’ sure,” he told her as he kept an eye on the hostess stand, waiting to hear his name be called. “I was goin’ t’ tell Jenkins abou’ i’ today, but I dinnae wan’ t’ do i’ with Kennedy there. I think he goes home tomorrow. Once he’s lef’, I’ll talk t’ Jenkins, bu’ we migh’ as well make whatever plans we wan’ in th’ meantime.” 

Just then, his name was called, effectively cutting off their discussion, and Fitz and Jemma followed the hostess to a table tucked in a back corner. They could see the whole of the restaurant, but were still afford a good amount of privacy, something Fitz found he appreciated. He wanted the chance to talk to her, instead of being distracted by everything around them. Settled in with menus before them, Fitz began to scan the menu, his growling stomach encouraging him to focus on finding something to eat. 

Jemma was immensely pleased to realize an entire section of the menu was true Italian food and not the Americanized versions of it. It didn’t take her long to settle on a dish with mussels and spicy Italian sausage, along with vegetables and pasta. Her own stomach rumbled not long after Fitz’ did, and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything all day. Even the muffin she’d bought to nibble at while she was waiting for Fitz had ended up being ignored. 

A quick discussion with the waitress about drinks had Jemma ordering Italian soda, after being reassured it was the real thing and not what passed for it in the stores here in the States. Fitz looked skeptical, but she simply shook her head. “Just try it. If you hate it, that’s fine, I’ll drink it and you can get something else. Have you decided what you’re ordering?” 

Fitz just watched Jemma as she went back and forth with the waitress, more than a little intimidated by how self-assured she seemed. He, on the other hand, felt his stomach clench a bit with nervousness. What if he did something so dumb she decided, on the spot, that she didn’t want to bother with dating him? Fitz pushed the thought away and forced a smile onto his face. 

“I trust ye t’ order our drinks, I supposed,” he teased as he glanced back at the menu. “I was thinkin’ o’ th’ ossa bucco.” He glanced at her over the menu, trying to see what, if anything, she thought of his selection, and Fitz suddenly found himself wondering when in the hell he’d become so wibbly about things like this just because Jemma Simmons was involved. 

She caught Fitz’ uncertainty despite the teasing, and was suddenly glad she’d sat next to him at the square table, rather than opposite him. Jemma reached out under the table and curled her fingers over his knee, giving a gentle squeeze. Away from campus, with only Fitz to concern herself with, Jemma was perhaps the most at ease in public than she’d been since the attack. 

“I don’t know that I’ve ever had ossa bucco, actually,” she admitted. “Try anything once, I suppose. You’ll have to let me steal a bite or two.” Jemma blushed as soon as she said it, but her smile was genuine and a little shy. Sharing food at a restaurant was just such a couple-y thing to do. “I’m getting this,” she added, pointing to her own selection. “You’re welcome to try it. Unless you’re allergic to shellfish, of course.”

“Gladly,” he murmured, a pleased flush creeping up his cheeks at the familiar way she’d insisted on sharing food. Fitz had a feeling that the more comfortable they became with each other, the more often they’d be sharing little things here and there. He liked the idea, and just the inkling that that’s what she was thinking was enough to put him at ease. 

The waitress came back with their drinks, and Fitz eyed the bright red liquid wearily. “So, tell me… wha’ exactly did ye order us t’ drink?” He’d trust her to order for him, but still, he was curious as to what she’d gotten him into. 

She lifted her own glass to take a sip and the shyness slipped out of her smile, leaving it wide and bright. “Real Italian soda. Oh, bless them. I haven’t had it in a few years.” She shook her head at Fitz’ dubious look. “Oh, Fitz. Just try it. I wouldn’t deliberately steer you wrong.” The waitress gave them an amused look and Jemma broke away from him to order a sampler plate of appetizers, knowing Fitz would need something to nibble on before their actual dinner. 

The young woman left to put the order in and Jemma tipped her head to watch Fitz, clearly expectant, until he tried the soda. 

He raised the glass to his lips, cautiously sipping the red, fizzy liquid, and found himself treated to the saccharine cherry flavor of the syrup that floated heavily in the sparkling water. Fitz grinned; as she usually seemed to be, Jemma was right. “Tha’s good,” he admitted, words bending around the rim of the glass as he took another, larger sip of his drink. He couldn’t help but laugh at her triumphant expression, and by the time the waitress had dropped off their antipasti, he found he was able to relax fully. 

“Tell me,” he began, reaching for a piece of focaccia and salumi and straining to think of appropriate first date conversation, “why ye decided t’ come t’ SciTech.” He assumed she’d been recruited, same as he. It was only a natural assumption, given that they were tied for youngest in the class and each already had a Ph.D. 

Jemma gave him a one-sided shrug. “I very nearly didn’t. I’ve been on their radar for some time because of my parents,” she said, picking at the antipasti plate and looked thoughtful for a moment, “But it wasn’t until I started looking at my options for after I finished my dissertation that I found I should actually consider it. It seems academia doesn’t look kindly on 18 year olds looking to join research teams as anything but an intern, and I didn’t want another Ph.D. yet.” 

“I’m afraid I got rather spoiled, growing up the way I did. Being confined to one place is… stifling, sometimes,” she finished softly. “I’ve been thinking I’d stay with SciOps for a few years and then try to get a field certification.” 

Fitz felt his eyebrows raise at her last statement. He liked the idea of travel as much as anyone, but there was something nice about having somewhere to call home. Even if it wasn’t the best of places. He met Jemma’s eyes and cocked his head a bit, trying to get a read on her. 

“Coul’ be interestin’,” he admitted, picking his words carefully, “bu’ I’m no’ too keen on th’ idea o’ bein’ in th’ field for too long. I’s nice t’ go study somethin’ for a bi’, but I like knowin’ I have somewhere t’ call home, too.” He thought he saw something hurt flash in her honey eyes, and he quickly began talking in the hopes of explaining himself a bit more fully. “I jus’ like designin’ tech. I’s easiest t’ do tha’ in th’ lab, where I can tinker an’ tes’ i’ before handin’ i’ off t’ a field agent.” 

She couldn’t help the twist in her stomach at Fitz’ words. Sure, theoretically she knew that Fitz’ work would be tough to translate to field operations. Without a lab he wouldn’t have the technology or the parts and components he’d need to really be creative with what he was building. Jemma forced a smile - it was far, far too soon for her to be planning their entire careers together, much less anything beyond that. 

“I wouldn’t mind having roots somewhere, but I’d like to wander, too. My parents maintained the house at home in England and we always made it back there for a while between assignments,” Jemma pointed out. “I think it almost helped that we were gone so often. I certainly never took home for granted.” 

He found himself oddly relieved at her words, although he wasn’t quite sure why. They were lab partners, had become friends, and hopefully would be romantically linked after tonight, but that didn’t give him any right to want, much less demand, that they keep working together. As much as he might have disliked the thought, Fitz knew it was necessary for him to accept that Jemma might not always be his lab partner; however, as long as they could maintain this, whatever it was, he could live with it. 

“Th’ bes’ o’ both worlds,” he agreed, popping an olive into his mouth before reaching for a bit of cheese and some more of the salumi. “”I’s ideal, really, t’ be able t’ wander th’ globe bu’ have somewhere t’ call home. I wouldnae min’ tha’ in th’ leas’.” 

Jemma nodded. “It was hard sometimes though, when it was months before we could go home for some reason. One of Mum and Dad’s projects was with a tribe in the Congo. We were gone for ten months that time. I think I was eleven, maybe? I think that was the only time that I was really relieved when they said they were done with a study.” 

She’d started her period while they’d been on that particular trip, and hadn’t that been fun to deal with when living so far from modern civilization. Her parents had to be careful to keep Jemma segregated from the tribe when she was on her menses due to their particular cultural beliefs about that time in a girl’s life. 

Still, that particular experience was one that she really didn’t want to have to explain in detail to Fitz, so she refocused on their conversation. “So is that the plan for you?” Jemma asked. “To get a lab assignment and stick with it? I would think you’d be bored, given some of the conceptual designs I’ve seen you with.” 

Fitz shrugged, wiping his fingers on his napkin before moving to fiddle with his glass, twisting it between his fingers a bit, causing the ice to clink, before taking another sip. He turned the question over in his mind, prodding at it carefully before answering her, because for some reason, it felt far more pressing than her casual tone had implied. 

“I dinnae know,” he answered honestly, sitting back a bit in his chair. “I’d like t’ be able t’ design an’ build an’ tes’ i’ all in th’ comfor’ o’ my lab, yes. Bu’ bein’ able t’ ge’ my hands on new stuff firs’? I coul’ live with a field lab, a’ leas’ for a few weeks, t’ be able t’ do tha’.” He cocked his head and considered her, still weighing his words carefully. “I suppose, if I had t’ pick wha’ I’d wan’ t’ do, either th’ Triskelion or th’ Sandbox for R&D. Those places seem t’ send more o’ us lab types into th’ field for new discoveries firs’. Runnin’ a design team in either place woul’ be a plum assignmen’.”

Jemma bit her lip. Only the best and brightest got plum assignments like that, especially straight out of the Academy. Two weeks ago, she’d have been sure Fitz could have gotten posted to either place if he’d told Agent Weaver that’s what he wanted. Now… With that note on his record, would they still take him? 

“That would be amazing,” Jemma said finally, because she did agree with him. The Triskelion and the Sandbox would be the best places for someone like him. “I have a feeling that even if I don’t end up doing field related work, I’ll still get assigned somewhere obscure. The Treehouse, maybe. There’s so much they’re still learning about what’s out there in the rainforest and how it can be applied to known problems…” 

As much as she’d love to keep working with him - just this one semester had showed how well even just their thought processes worked together, much less their complementary skills in the lab - Jemma had a feeling that without coming up with something big and very useful, they’d be separated in the end. One side of her mouth lifted as she had an idea. “Fitz… I already know what you’re doing for winter break, but what are you doing for summer hols?” 

Fitz felt his heart clench a bit when she mentioned the Treehouse. It was a fantastically foolish thought, if he were to be honest with himself, but he’d already begun to harbor fantasies of working with her beyond their time at SciTech. Ever since the prank she’d dreamed up and they engineered in response to McKay’s sabotage, Fitz had imagined working with her, in some capacity. It was what had fueled his crush, at least in part, and he wasn’t quite ready to let that particular fantasy go, not just yet. 

He was grateful when she switched the topic, and felt his brows quirk in curiosity. “T’ be hones’, I dinnae know wha’ I’m doin’. I’d like t’ go home t’ see my mum, but i’s no’ likely t’ happen. I’ll probably stick aroun’ here, look into a summer job or seein’ if one o’ the engineerin’ professors wants a research assistant. Why, wha’ are ye thinkin’?” He grinned at her, wanting to let her know that he was open to suggestions. “An’ dinnae even try t’ tell me tha’ ye’re no’ schemin’ up somethin’. I know tha’ look, Jemma.”

Jemma bit her lip, bit the mischievous look and the light in her eyes didn’t fade. “Fitz… What if I told you I have unlimited access to a private lab over the summer, and a large research library, both outside of SHIELD? I mean… sure, you could stay here and do someone’s grunt work, but what could we come up with, having the freedom to spend three months working on whatever we wanted?” She grew more excited as she spoke, liking the idea. Jemma’s parents had always regretted she didn’t have more opportunities to make friends while she was growing up, surely they wouldn’t mind her bringing Fitz home for the summer. 

He cocked his head at her, clearly intrigued and more than a little excited by the prospect of a summer spent not only on working on his own projects, but of one spent in those same pursuits with Jemma. It was too good to be true, experience told him that, but still, he couldn’t help but want to jump at the opportunity. He wanted to ask for the details: where the lab was and how she had access to it, not to mention what exactly she wanted to try working on, knowing that she would already have those ideas percolating in the back of her mind, but he was interrupted when the waitress returned to take their order. 

That settled, he turned his mind back to his previous questions, and found that they were nearly impossible to resist. He chided himself at the thought; it wasn’t the questions he found irresistible, but her. With that decided, Fitz smiled at her across the table and licked his lips, savoring the moment a bit before speaking. 

“I think i’ sounds like a dream. An’ I’d say ‘yes’ t’ tha’ in a heartbeat.”


	12. Chapter 12

Her nose wrinkled, knowing what she was about to bring up might be the biggest catch to her entire plan. Fitz was sweet, but there were certain things she’d learned to be careful of, and pricking at his pride was one of them. She’d never really brought up her family situation and she knew from various comments from him that it was just him and his mum and they didn’t have a lot of money. 

“Enough of a dream that you won’t balk if I make arrangements for us both to fly to England for the summer?” she asked, keeping her voice light, even though she was scared he would say no. “A train ticket from Sheffield to Glasgow would be much easier than flying from Boston to see your Mum…” 

Now that she was really thinking it through, she was excited about the prospect of getting time to work with him without classes or SHIELD dictating what they should be doing. She’d seen how Fitz could take the seed of an idea and make it grow and become real. If they could prove to SHIELD that they were better as a team, maybe they wouldn’t have to worry about being split up. 

Fitz had been finishing the last of his soda, tipping the last of the sweet drink into his mouth along with some of the ice, but froze at her suggestion. He slowly lowered the glass and crunched into the ice, stalling for time. 

A summer spent in a private lab, with Jemma, no less, where they’d be free to do their own research, free of interference from S.H.I.E.L.D. really would be a dream… but there was no way he could afford the ticket, and he couldn’t just let her pay for him, either, or her family, not when it was something that pricey. It just didn’t sit well with him, even though the excited, and more than a bit hopeful, expression on her face begged him to give in. His eyes darted away as he turned the idea over. It did mean he would get to see his mum, something he hadn’t thought he’d be able to do until he’d graduated and began making real money. She’d love to see him, and she’d like Jemma, too, of that he was certain, if Jemma agreed to come to Glasgow with him. 

Fitz let out a soft sigh, his lower lip caught between his teeth, and returned his glass to the table in front of him. “Tha’s a lo’ o’ money t’ jus’ be throwin’ about, Jemma,” he told her, voice low and a bit hesitant as he met her gaze. That was a mistake; her eyes drew him in and he knew he was going to say yes. It was just a matter of putting his own conditions on it. 

“I’ll say yes, bu’ only if ye le’ me pay i’ back somehow. Yer parents mus’ need someone t’ help wit’ their own research. I can help wit’ tha’.” He bit his lip as he considered his next request. He could only hope it wouldn’t startle her too badly. “An’ when I go home t’ visit my mum, ye come wit’ me, an’ le’ me buy both tickets.” Fitz sat and watched her as she considered his request, breath caught in his throat as he waited to see what she would say. 

Jemma’s heart sank when Fitz stilled, knuckles going white where his fingers were clenched around his glass. Damnit. She shouldn’t have been so direct about it. Her mind raced, trying to think of ways to convince him even as she silently pleaded with him to say yes. She braced herself when he lowered the glass to the tabletop with a soft thunk, fully expecting him to say no. The words she got gave her hope though. 

“Don’t worry about the money, Fitz. I mean it. My parents are convinced they ruined my life because I never got to make friends. They throw money at me without me even asking for it, and they’ll be thrilled that I’m bringing someone home,” she said all in a rush, desperate to ease the nervous expression on his face. “They might not even be home all summer, if they go out on another dig. It’s been awhile, they’re probably getting itchy feet. We’ll have the house and my lab and the library all to ourselves…” 

Some of the excitement was coming back as she thought about it more, and realized that he might actually come with her if she gave in a little bit. “You can fiddle with the cars, if you want. Or fix stuff around the house? Dad would probably like suggestions about upgrading the electrics. Some of the wiring around the place is ancient.” Jemma was so focused on convincing Fitz that she didn’t understand the significance of what he’d said until she got to it. “You want me to meet your Mum?” 

Fitz found himself cautiously nodding as she talked, and tried not to be too distracted by the idea of being alone with her in her house for a summer. It was no different than being alone with her at the Academy, or at least that’s what he tried to tell himself. And he could live with them paying for his airfare, so long as he did something in exchange. He’d just have to be sure he found enough around the house to do, knowing full well that Jemma would likely try to distract him from doing just that.

He opted to focus on her last question, and found himself smiling at the hint of disbelief he heard in her voice. “An’ jus’ wha’ are ye askin’ me t’ do?” He arched a brow in her direction. They’d spent a weekend cuddling in bed, and two weeks trying to sort what they were. Now, as they sat across from each other on their first official date, they were talking about meeting parents. It should have seemed ludicrous, but instead, it caused a little swelling of happiness to spring up in his chest. 

“Yes, Jemma, I’m askin’ ye t’ come meet my mum if we’re goin’ back t’ th’ UK over summer hols. Ye’re no’ th’ only one tha’ had trouble makin’ friends,” his voice dropped as his tone grew more serious. “My mum woul’ be happy t’ know I found someone here tha’ll look ou’ for me.” He dropped his gaze, worried that he was being too presumptuous in saying that he thought she’d take care of him if he needed it. 

“Well, I didn’t think of it that way, I was just trying to get you to come play in the lab with me for the summer!” Jemma blurted out, blushing and looking terribly shy. She really hadn’t thought about how it would sound for him to come home with her for the summer. Or that her parents might not even be there much of the time, she realized, the pink color deepening. Biting her lip, she sighed and shook her head. “I didn’t mean for any of it to sound like a bad thing, I just… You surprised me, that’s all.” 

She reached for his hand, curling her fingers around and under his palm. “Mum’s been after me to bring you around for months. I think she knew how I felt about you before I did,” she admitted. Jemma’s eyes searched his face. She was already terribly embarrassed, she didn’t want Fitz to start getting shy as well. Especially not about this. “I’d like to meet your Mum,” she said quietly, liking the way it felt just knowing that was on Fitz’ mind. Jemma knew how important his Mum was to him, and it made her feel important that he wanted them to meet. 

That caught his attention, more so than even the way she curled her hand around his or the bashful look in her eye. Fitz wasn’t quite sure why she felt the need to be nervous, but he did understand his impulse to fix it. He returned the gentle pressure, and tried to give her his best reassuring grin. “I’s no’ a bad thin’, Jem. I dinnae think so, a’ leas’. I’d hope ye’d agree.” 

He coughed a bit to clear his suddenly tight throat, an idea scratching at the back of his brain. “Yer mum’s been askin’ abou’ me? Do I wan’ t’ know wha’ ye’ve told her about me?”

Jemma pursed her lips, eyes wide and shook her head. “Ah, well… Quite a lot, actually. I’m afraid she didn’t have the best impression of you at first…” She wrinkled her nose, remembering. “Given that she called on my birthday and I wasn’t having a very good day. Thankfully things got better after a while.” 

Fitz squeezed his eyes shut in a wince as she spoke, mentally kicking himself in the arse for leaving that note in the first place. Although, it did result in them actually speaking to each other, so he supposed it couldn’t be an entirely bad thing. Still… what a shite impression to make on her mum, and he hadn’t even actually met the woman yet. That made him groan, and he finally opened his eyes to look at Jemma.

“Ye know, I have a feelin’ tha’ ye’ll be makin’ me pay for tha’ note th’ res’ o’ my life.” He squeezed her hand again, fingers skimming gently against her palm. “Any ideas on how I should go about fixin’ tha’ particularly poor decision?”

“It’s okay, Fitz. Really. We weren’t even acquaintances at that point, much less friends. You couldn’t have known it was my birthday and you wouldn’t have been obligated to care,” Jemma pointed out reasonably, catching his eyes and smiling softly. “I might give you a hard time about it now and then, but I’m not upset or angry about it. It’s just rare that I catch you in a mistake.” 

Jemma considered not giving him any more information, but he looked so dismayed about treating her poorly on her birthday that she decided to cut him a little slack. “And Mum knows just about everything. Even the past few weeks. I’m supposed to tell you thank you on her behalf, actually, for being here for me after… everything. She was all ready to get on a plane and fly over here to kick Harris’ arse but you beat her to it.” 

The idea of Mrs. Simmons, the woman who likely taught Jemma how to hide her nerves and upset behind a sunny smile along with giving her some rather fine manners, flying across the Atlantic to kick anyone’s arse broke Fitz’ embarrassment. And he broke into a full-on grin when it occurred to him that she was likely as petite as her daughter, and imagined an older Jemma, dressed in expedition gear, gearing up for a fight. 

“Ye can tell her i’ was nothin’. I’m jus’ sorry there wasnae enough o’ him lef’ for her.” He felt the nervous tension that had been twisting in his chest begin to break loose, relieved that despite his misstep on her birthday, some good had come of his foolhardy decision in regard to Harris. And, if her mother was on his side, well, maybe he wouldn’t need to worry about her father wanting to kill him for all the reasons the fathers of teenage girls typically want to kill teenage boys quite so much. 

He gave her hand another small squeeze, releasing it as their food arrived. Both dishes smelled fantastic, and Fitz’ stomach gave a loud growl as his was set before him. He glanced over to Jemma, a sheepish expression creeping across his face, and trying to cover up the loud rumble, gestured to his plate as he asked, “Did ye wan’ t’ try some?”

The Jemma Simmons nose-wrinkle made an appearance then, as Fitz shrugged off what he’d done for her like it was nothing. Again. At some point over this break, Jemma decided, she was going to make it very clear to him just how much she appreciated what he’d done for her. He might think he was just doing the right thing, and maybe that was true, but Jemma wasn’t used to having people who cared enough about her to make sure that happened. 

She laughed softly when his stomach rumbled. “I guess the antipasti wasn’t enough? I’ll have to make sure you get a snack if we plan another late dinner,” Jemma said teasingly, but she was also mostly serious about that. Fitz’ stomach was demanding and it was better for everyone if she didn’t let him get too hungry. He’d only get extra fussy and sometimes outright grumpy if left without snacks and proper meals. 

Eyeing his plate, Jemma leaned toward him to peer at the osso bucco and nodded. “That looks delicious. Will you cut me a piece? You can try mine if you want as well.” The scent wafting up from the mussels and sausage in her dish had Jemma’s mouth watering. 

Fitz nodded as he reached for one of the small appetizer plates stacked on their table, tugging it closer to his plate. He cut off a portion of veal, and after placing it on the plate, spooned on a little polenta for good measure. He nudged the plate toward her before tucking in himself, his slightly embarrassed grin still firmly in place. 

“Mum used t’ tease me tha’ I’d eat us out o’ house an’ home before I lef’ for uni.” His grin turned from sheepish to warm at the thought of his mother. “She’d been worried tha’ i’ was a thyroid thing, bu’ no, jus’ a fas’ metabolism.” He shrugged off the memories before he could turn sullen, as he often did when he became homesick. His life with his mother was the only one he’d ever known, and he still worried about how she was doing, no matter how often he called, or how often she told him to stop worrying and live his life. 

He turned his attention back to Jemma, and his tone was teasing when he spoke next. “So, I know yer mum doesnae hate me a’ leas’. Wha’ about yer da’? Ye mentioned cars?” He couldn’t help the slightly hopeful upturn his voice took at that. If her father was any kind of gearhead, Fitz knew they would at least have something to talk about, and he could hopefully avoid any uncomfortable lulls in conversation when it came to meeting him. 

Jemma laughed, recognizing Fitz’ question for what it was. “Dad likes to learn, and that goes from debates with colleagues at conferences all the way to sitting on the ground with a passel of tribal children for hours to learn the games they grew up playing. You’ve a brain and you know how to use it. He’ll appreciate that. If you want to impress him, bring some designs and half-built gadgets and spend a couple hours letting him ask questions.”

She paused for a moment to pick one of her mussels out of its shell, chewing thoughtfully, “If you’re interested, I’ll hunt up some basic reading for you on paleoanthropology and paleoarchaeology. It might help to be at least a little familiar with things they might be working on.” Her parents wouldn’t expect him to know much about it. They weren’t demanding people - she thought they’d like Fitz well enough for himself - but making a little effort would go a long way, too. 

“As for the cars,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “There are at least four. Maybe five by now. We each have our own, plus the sedan. Dad was talking about buying a sports car of some sort, but I don’t know if he ever did.” 

“Tha’d be good, knowin’ wha’ i’ is they do, a’ leas’ in passin’,” he admitted with a nod as he raises a forkful of his own food to his mouth and chews carefully as he thinks. Anthropology and archaeology weren’t of much interest to him, to be honest; Fitz would much rather concern himself with looking ahead to whatever technology came next than what they’d used in the past. Although, he did have to acknowledge that without looking at what had come before, new innovations couldn’t come about. 

That settled in his mind, he picked up another appetizer plate and held it out to her as he looked pointedly at her plate. “Woul’ ye min’?” he asked, passing the plate off to her. “An’ maybe we should star’ thinkin’ o’ projects for th’ summer. I have some half-finished projects lyin’ aroun’, bu’ i’ migh’ be good t’ le’ him see wha’ we plan on makin’ while we’re there, no?” 

Jemma spooned a decent amount of her own meal onto the plate he offered. She’d never manage to finish this amount of food on her own anyway, so she was more than happy to let him help. “Don’t worry, I won’t overwhelm you. Besides, Dad is always more than happy to expound on his pet theories. He’s fascinated by all sorts of things though, so you can probably distract him with tech theory if he goes too far down a rabbit hole.” 

She mused over his other question and nodded slowly, “I actually have something… I’ve been thinking about it for months but I didn’t want to start it in the SHIELD labs. People are too nosy and I was worried that someone would try to steal the idea before we had time to dig into it.” Jemma lowered her voice and glanced over at him. “I might need you to build me a custom gun.” 

Fitz could practically feel his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. Jemma Simmons was the very last person in the world he’d ever expect to ask for a gun of any sort. That request alone would have intrigued him, not to mention her insistence on secrecy. If she wanted to keep it from anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. for the time being, it must have been good. It sent his mischievous side into happy little fits, and he couldn’t help but give her a sly smile in return. 

“A custom gun? For wha’, Jemma?” He, too, kept his voice low as his eyes quickly scanned the vicinity, not wanting to startle any of the other patrons with talk of weaponry. Sure, he could easily explain away the nature of the question if pressed, but he’d been in enough trouble with Weaver and the administration at SciTech. Better to keep it quiet. “Are ye talkin’ about a pistol, a rifle? Wha’ do ye need i’ t’ do?”

The immediate interest on his face helped her to continue - she’d been a little worried that he’d balk at the idea. Fitz wasn’t exactly a pacifist, but Jemma hadn’t been certain he’d listen. Bringing it up now, in public, had probably been a good idea. “How many times has SHIELD lost valuable information because an agent had no choice but to shoot to kill? I have an idea for a biochemical base for non-lethal weaponry. Dendrotoxin, given proper formulation, could fully incapacitate an adult for up to an hour, but I need to find that formula and it’s going to need an entirely new weapon and cartridge to contain it.” 

Jemma’s excitement about the idea was clear in her tone, even as she tried not to look too excited. “If we start working on it at the SciTech labs, someone might take the project away from us - or try to beat us to putting a working prototype together. Especially if it’s the older cadets or a senior agent. They’d have more time to work on it while we’d be stuck in classes. If we wait ‘til summer… we’ll be free and clear. Can you imagine if we came back at the end of the summer with a fully workable design?” 

He could imagine it, and quite easily at that. If they could come back with a viable prototype, without anyone else getting the jump on them, they’d be given their pick of positions after graduation. They could pick whatever lab they wanted, and whomever they wanted working there. Fitz glanced at Jemma over their meal, and allowed himself to wonder what it’d be like if they were actually able to work together the rest of their careers. If they could pull this off…

Well, if they could pull this off, they’d be nearly unstoppable. 

Fitz’ mind began whirring, turning over ideas, and he leaned in closer to Jemma to whisper conspiratorially. “I’s no’ th’ gun tha’ will be th’ problem. Th’ rounds’ll be far trickier.” He licked his lips, gathering his thoughts before explaining further. “Ye see, th’ round needs t’ be strong enough t’ with stand th’ pressure in th’ barrel, and t’ puncture skin, bu’ delicate enough t’ break apar’ on contac’.” He fidgeted with his fork as his mind began to pick up speed, considering things materials and weight and tensile strength. 

“Le’s do, i’, Jemma. An’ I agree, le’s no’ say anythin’ around S.H.I.E.L.D. We never know who migh’ be listenin’ in.” He bit his lip, considering places they could go to discuss this idea of hers between now and summer hols. After all, it wouldn’t do any good to have a fantastic idea go to pot because they hadn’t worked on it. The problem was, all of the Academy facilities were no good, as well as their dorms, although in a pinch hers would be best, what with Sonja always being out…

“Think they’ll le’ me back in th’ public library? No one from th’ Academy goes there. We could sor’ i’ ou’ in peace.” 

“I wouldn’t entirely count on that,” Jemma said with a twist of her mouth. “Not after last time. But it’s winter hols now, we should be able to find somewhere quiet where we can at least talk through it some more,” she agreed. She didn’t want to entirely derail their date talking about work though, so she tried to deflect his mind onto something else. 

“So tell me about your family. I know it’s just you and your mum, but I don’t really know anything about her or where you grew up,” Jemma prompted, curious. She’d also very much like to know what had happened to Fitz’ father. Had he never known the man, had he left, or had something gone wrong? Fitz never said a word about him, and Jemma found that terribly intriguing as often as he mentioned his mother in passing. 

Fitz couldn’t help but smile when she asked about his mum. His childhood hadn’t been the easiest, but he hadn’t realized that until he was away at school and he started hearing childhood stories from his classmates. It was only then that Fitz realized it wasn’t normal to have an uncle around instead of a father, and that most mothers didn’t have to work three jobs to pay for their son’s advanced engineering texts. She’d given him a good life, despite what his father had done to her, and he loved her all the more for that. 

“Ye know I’m from Glasgow.” He started with something easy, trying to find a way to give her the roundabout version of his family history. The full details were a bit much, particularly when he wanted to have a pleasant date night with her, but if Fitz was okay with anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. knowing his family history, it was Jemma. “My da lef’ before I was one. He an’ Mum were young, an’ weren’t married, an’ bes’ I figure he jus’ didnae wan’ t’ deal wit’ a baby.” He rushed through that part, wanting it over; it was always the hardest to get through, despite never having known his father. 

“Mum moved us in wit’ her brother, my Uncle Stephan, an’ took on three jobs. She was able t’ move us int’ a house down th’ street a few years later.” He smiled at the memory. The house his mother lived in was small, but clean and well kept, and full of happy memories for him. “Wit’ my cousins nearby, i’ never fel’ like I was alone. They were th’ closes’ thing t’ brothers I ever had.” He fiddled with his fork a bit, a grin still playing across his mouth. “Mum is rather amazin’. Wouldnae qui’, no matter wha’ life sen’ her way. I’ sounds odd t’ say, bu’ I’m proud o’ her.”

Fitz could feel tears tugging at the corners of his eyes, and his embarrassment nearly overcame him. He pulled his napkin off his lap and wiped his mouth, using the motion as an excuse to look down and hide his eyes from her for a moment. There was nothing like tearing up on a first date to ruin it. 

Jemma almost wished she hadn’t brought it up. Certainly she hadn’t expected to nearly make him cry. The gloss in his eyes was obvious to her, although no one else would likely notice it in the dim light of the restaurant. “Fitz…” she said softly, reaching to lay gentle fingers over his arm. “She must be amazing. I’m looking forward to meeting her and the rest of your family. I envy you having close relatives. It’s just me and my parents - neither of them had siblings and my grandparents all passed when I was young.”

When he brought his hands back down from his mouth, Jemma slid her hand up his forearm to curl her fingers into his palm, squeezing once. “And your father is a fool for missing out on watching you grow up.” 

Fitz returned the gentle pressure of her hand even as he chuffed out a humorless laugh. “I’ve hear’ my da called a bunch o’ names. ‘Fool’ was always one o’ th’ kinder ones.” He gave his head a small shake, trying to physically drive away the darker thoughts that were trying to creep in. “Mum’ll like ye, Jem. She’ll like tha’ ye keep me on my toes.”

He cut off another piece of veal and chewed it slowly, considering Jemma carefully. He’d been hesitant to tell her about his father because he’d been afraid that she would pity him, and that was the last thing he wanted from her. But it wasn’t pity he saw on her face; there was compassion there, true, but no pity. He should have known better than that, and the thought made him grin just the tiniest bit. 

“So, wha’ abou’ ye?” Fitz asked as he swirled his fork in his polenta. “I know ye spen’ yer life globe hoppin’, bu’ wha’ stop was yer favorite?”

“It’s his loss, Fitz,” Jemma reiterated quietly. If they hadn’t been in the middle of a restaurant, she’d have hugged him, but it could wait until later. Her hold on his hand would have to suffice for the moment. She did smile at his comment about his mother though. “Well, it’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it,” she laughed, then risked teasing him gently, trying to help him out of his funk. “You’d be quite insufferable without someone reining you in, Fitz.” 

She had to consider his question seriously, skimming through various locations and answers and Jemma finally laughed at herself. “Honestly? The next one.” Jemma gave a little sheepish shrug. “I have a lot of good memories, and there were some places that were worse than others, but really… There were good things about almost all of them. Part of the fascination - I got it from my parents - is the experience. You don’t get that by staying in the same place, no matter how much you like it.” 

The answer was so typically Jemma that Fitz found himself nodding along as she spoke, not really all that surprised. Jemma had always shown a bit more of an adventurous streak than he had, and in truth, it was something that attracted him to her, both as a partner and friend, and now as something more. He liked that about her, liked that it made her a better scientist and how it balanced out his more reserved nature. 

“I always need t’ be reminded o’ tha’,” he confessed, looking a bit sheepish. “Even goin’ t’ uni an’ enrolling in th’ Academy, my mum had t’ remin’ me why i’ was such a grea’ opportunity. An’ always, withou’ fail, an’ despite my moanin’ an’ groanin’, Mum’s righ’ an’ I enjoy th’ new experience.” He managed to grin at her a bit, thinking that if he hadn’t listened to his mum, he never would have met Jemma. “One day, maybe I’ll learn t’ embrace change, bu’ until then, I need ye an’ my mum t’ keep remindin’ me t’ no’ be such a stubborn arse abou’ i’.” 

“You need us to remind you not to be a stubborn arse about a lot of things, not just that,” Jemma replied teasingly, wrinkling her nose. Fitz could be downright obnoxious when he was really set on something and it drove her batty sometimes. “But that also means I can talk you into doing more new things with me!” she said, excited by the realization. There were so many things she’d love to show him, places she wished she could take him, but Jemma knew all too well that if it cost money, eventually his pride was going to get in the way. 

Her eyes had gone bright, even in the dim light of the restaurant, and Fitz couldn’t help but reflect her excitement in return. Jemma’s mood were infectious, and he found himself easily imagining trotting after her across the globe, investigating and creating whatever which way S.H.I.E.L.D. directed them. 

It certainly wouldn’t be a bad career. 

Fitz felt the last of his sorrow over his father dissipate, and gave her an easy grin in return. “Somethin’ tells me tha’ i’ wouldnae take much t’ convince me t’ try somethin’ new if ye were th’ one askin’ me t’ try i’.”

That only made her smile widen, entirely pleased that he was willing to give in to her whims. While Jemma was mostly practical and grounded, traveling and seeing new things was an integral part of her psyche. She didn’t want to leave Fitz behind, so knowing he was open to coming with her, even when it was outside his usual preference for stability… Oh, it made her feel warm and fuzzy inside, as clichéd as that was. 

She was practically bubbling with happiness, and it showed all over her face. “I’ll have to remember that,” Jemma grinned, then sobered just a little, so he’d know she was serious, “And I’ll try not to take advantage of it too terribly often.”


	13. Chapter 13

Jemma was true to her word, only towing him into three restaurants with cuisine he’d never even heard of, much less dreamed to try, and two out of the way museums in the short weeks that spanned the end of the semester and his birthday. And truth be told, Fitz found that he rather liked Sudanese cooking, when all was said and done. 

But regardless of where they went or what they did, they did it together. The sight of them following each other around campus became so commonplace that when Fitz’ training supervisor caught the pair of them leaving his dorm early one morning, the man didn’t even say a word, just gave them a greeting and went on his way. The memory made him grin, and he turned onto his side to better face the girl sleeping next to him. 

They’d taken to this, too, sleeping cuddled up together in one of their dorms, and Fitz was worried that once their roommates returned to campus and they had to scale back the number of nights they actually spent together, he would have trouble dozing on his own. He’d become awfully used to the press of her against him, the gentle rise-and-fall of her chest and the way her perfume clung to his sheets. His train of thought made him smile, and he dropped his face to hers, place a kiss at the corner of her mouth and nuzzling her cheek. 

“Jemma,” he softly sing-songed, “wake up, lass. Ye promised me pancakes an’ bacon for my birthday, an’ I have every intention o’ collectin’ on tha’.”

“Fiiiiiiiitz,” Jemma groaned, rolling onto her stomach and ducking her face under the covers. She’d been awake since he first stirred, but had been content to lay quietly in the circle of his arms until he’d spoken, “Any other morning you are more than happy to sleep as long as I will possibly let you, but today, you want me up early?” 

It was true. Most mornings Jemma was up with the sunrise and had to wheedle him out of bed hours later. Or resist his sleepy tugs to pull her back in with him for cuddles. It was almost terrifying how much she cared for him now. The way everything felt wrong when he wasn’t around, especially when Jemma caught herself speaking to him when he wasn’t there. She’d grown accustomed to Fitz picking up the threads of her thoughts, shuttling them through the fabric of his own perspective and sending them back to her. 

She sighed, knowing this mood of his. He’d be sweet about it, but he wouldn’t let it go until she got up and made good on her promise. “Alright, I’ll go make breakfast,” Jemma murmured eventually. 

Fitz felt immediately guilty when he heard her tone, clearly tired and in want of a bit more relaxation. His early morning excitement was a holdover from when he’d been a lad and his mum had made the entire day about him. He’d learned to let most of that go when he’d gone to uni, but he still felt a certain kind of excitement on his birthday. Feeling apologetic, Fitz tightened the arm he had draped around her waist and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to her lips. 

“I’m sorry,” he told her with a much softer smile, “I shoul’ have started wit’ tha’. Good mornin’, Jem.” He pressed another kiss to her lips before working his way over her cheek and up to her forehead. 

Her eyes fluttered shut and Jemma willingly snuggled back in, tipping her head to rest against his shoulder. “Good morning. And happy birthday,” she murmured, the tension in her voice easing now that she knew she didn’t have to get up right away. “I didn’t forget, by the way. I have everything for your breakfast - plus a surprise or two - tucked away in the kitchen.” 

Jemma wriggled her arm under his and up over Fitz’ side, helping pull her in against his body. “It’s early though. I figured you would sleep in today, so I’d planned on doing the same for once.” 

Fitz’s grin tripled in size at the mention of a surprise, a child at heart, and began to rub gentle circles over her shoulders. He allowed his own eyes to drift closed as he settled in against her, nose buried in her hair. 

“Mum always made a big deal ou’ o’ my birthday,” he confessed, his sheepish tone muffled by Jemma. “So i’s th’ one day o’ th’ year I manage t’ be up before noon.” He knew it was silly, being his age and still feeling so giddy over his birthday, but he couldn’t help it; it was a way he could still hold onto his mother when she was half a world away. “Either way,” he murmured, trying to drift off once more, “sleepin’ in wit’ ye is a much better way t’ star’ th’ day.”

“Before noon?” Jemma peered over at her clock and then drew back to look up at him, “It’s barely 7, Fitz. Even I don’t usually get up this early!” His expression clearly said he wasn’t going to get back to sleep; she recognized that excited glint in his eyes all too well, although she usually only saw it in the lab. 

She pursed her lips, considering, and then decided to negotiate. It wasn’t so much that she needed the extra sleep, but it was nice to stay curled up in bed with him and get a somewhat lazy start to the day. “Alright. We don’t have to sleep, but I don’t want to rush out of bed, either. What can I trade for a half hour of cuddles and kisses before we actually get up?” Her expression shifted to a soft smile and sad-puppy eyes, hoping he’d just give in. 

Fitz quirked an eyebrow at her. “When’s th’ las’ time I made ye work for kisses? Or cuddles, for tha’ matter?” He ran his hand down her spine, and once he had reached the hem of her top, slipped his fingers beneath it so he could skate his fingertips over the bare skin of her lower back. He’d found that he liked having his hands on her bare skin, and this particular spot seemed to work well for them both. 

He grinned down at her, feeling warm and affectionate, and tugged her up so he could kiss her, his mouth lazily working against hers. Kissing Jemma Simmons was quickly becoming one of his favorite activities, and he was dreading that that, too, would likely dwindle with the return of the other cadets. He somehow didn’t think she’d be one for public displays of affection, not after what had happened. Fitz pushed the heavy thought aside, mind set on enjoying as much of that affection he could get in the here-and-now. 

“I think I can give ye an hour, Jem,” he told her, eyes teasing, “bu’ after tha’ ye’re a’ th’ mercy o’ my stomach, an’ ye know how tha’ can go…”

“Ne-”, Jemma started to speak, but when his fingertips skimmed under her shirt she had to try again. “Never. But there’s a first time for everything,” she murmured between kisses. Admittedly, she’d gotten spoiled too, having his close attention over the break, especially when he’d proven to be far more touchy and hands-on than she’d expected of the grumpy Scot. 

And yet, Fitz hadn’t pushed, never seemed out of sorts when they brushed against the line of things that made her think of that night and she drew back. He didn’t let her get away with running either, though, only let her slide back to where she was comfortable but still within reach. That, more than anything, had solidified her certainty that she didn’t just have a crush anymore, but was honestly falling for him. How many guys, especially his age, would do that? 

He spoke again, his deep brogue drawing her attention and she shook her head, “Half an hour. I know very well that your stomach won’t give either of us any peace after that.” Jemma gave him a soft little smile and tucked more firmly against him, sliding down to rest her head on his chest. Her shirt, caught by his arm under it, rucked up a bit higher along with his hand and she let out a quiet noise of contentment. Fitz could rub her back all day if he wanted and she wouldn’t complain.

Fitz' eyes shut once more, a grin playing across his mouth as Jemma settled into his chest with a content little sigh. He kept his fingers moving over her soft skin, not only liking the soft sounds she was making, but giving into his need to touch her. He was rarely this tactile, but after what had happened with Harris, he took every opportunity to reassure himself that she really was next to him.

He stayed like that, allowing his mind to wander. Eventually, it caught on their upcoming trip. "Jem," he called gently, "I bough' th' train tickets. Wha' else do I need t' do before we leave for New York?"

“Mmm, I’ve booked the hotel already,” she replied, thinking over the details. “I think the only other thing I want to do ahead of time is look and see what’s playing on Broadway, have an idea of what we want to see before we get there, otherwise it might just be overwhelming to choose.” There might be thirty or forty shows playing at any one time and Jemma didn’t want to miss out on something good, either. 

She leaned up to press a kiss under his jaw, pleased that he’d gone ahead and done that without her having to prod him. Fitz seemed just as excited about their trip as she was, which made her immensely happy. Jemma had actually been thinking that maybe she’d try seducing him while they were there. She wanted to get past what Harris had done to her and she absolutely wanted it to be with Fitz. He was the one guy that she trusted whole-heartedly, without reservation. 

Fitz hummed when he felt her lips against his skin, content to just touch and be touched by Jemma, and involuntarily tipped his head back, baring the rest of his neck to her, if she wanted to take advantage of it. His hand inched just a little bit further up her spine in response, and his fingers began to trace looser, more winding patterns. 

“Jus’ promise me nothin’ too twee on th’ shows, yeah?” he lightly pleaded. Fitz had never been what one could call an enthusiastic patron of the arts, but he would be happy to go to a few shows with Jemma if she wanted. “An’ I assume I’ll need t’ bring somethin’ decen’ t’ wear t’ th’ shows?” He could vaguely remember some kind of etiquette in regard to dressing for the theatre, but wasn’t sure if anyone actually did that any longer.

Although, if he did take care to dress well, it meant he could potentially surprise Jemma by taking her out to dinner… he tucked that idea into the back of his brain, and made a mental note to look into restaurants in New York City. He had enough saved that he should be able to take her out to one nice meal after a show.

Jemma couldn’t help but smile at the way he tipped his head back, clearly wanting more attention, but she wanted to reassure him first. “The shows are negotiable - that’s why we need to look at the list together. There has to be something we’d both be interested in. And there’s no real dress code, although Friday and Saturday nights are more formal. Just no jeans, really. Plus there are museums and plenty of other things to see,” Jemma reminded him. “I’ll pull a list together later on, if you want to look.” 

Once she’d finished speaking though, Jemma gave in to Fitz’ silent invitation. Completely distracting them both from the conversation, she worked down to his collarbone and then back up to his ear with soft kisses and tiny flicks of her tongue against his skin, giggling softly against his skin when he reacted. 

Fitz nodded, preparing to give her an answer about the shows when he was thoroughly distracted by the feel of mouth working over his neck. His fingers splayed wide against her back before they flexed, pressing into her as he arched into her attentions. He even moaned a bit as her tongue darted out, teasing over his pulse before she turned her attention to working her way back up his neck, tracing her way along the line created by his straining tendon. 

The only problem with their position, as far as Fitz could see, was that she could only work the one side of his neck from where she laid pressed against him. He shifted down a bit, trying to get under her so he could encourage her to straddle him and have access to both sides of his neck. 

Instead, Jemma grinned at him, playful, and pulled away. “Ah ah ah. The half hour is up, time to make breakfast.” She moved to sit up, arching her back into a deep bend as she stretched, half hoping he’d want to play too and tug her back into bed with him. 

Fitz groaned, disappointed, even as his blue eyes tracked her, catching on her chest when she threw that dramatic arch into her back. His hand itched to press itself into that curve, to have his fingers dance along it for just a bit longer… and he should get what he wanted, he reasoned, particularly on his birthday. 

He darted his arm out, wrapping it around her waist and hauled Jemma back over him, settling her onto his lower stomach. 

“I’s my birthday, Jem,” he wheedled, fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt before inching beneath it a bit to rest gently on her upper thighs. “You won’ give me another half hour on my birthday?” He pouted up at her, hoping to entice her into bed for a few more minutes. 

Jemma giggled when he tugged her back, her smile bright as Fitz settled her over his body. She’d come to love being with him, the way he so effortlessly made her more comfortable in her own skin through his own quiet appreciation. And when he used that particular sweet, pleading tone, she didn’t have a chance. “Alright, I suppose…” 

The soft brush of his fingers on her thighs was enticing, and the kiss she leaned up to press against Fitz’ mouth was a little less innocent than what she’d usually have given. Her tongue skimmed over his lower lip before darting into Fitz’ mouth to slide teasingly against his own. 

Her kiss drew a soft groan from Fitz as her tongue slipped over his, and his hands skimmed up her thighs to bracket her hips, holding her in place above him. This was something he very much wanted to get used to, not only waking up next to Jemma, but having her shower him with this type of affection. As their relationship had changed over the course of the past few weeks, there had been plenty of kisses and touches and caresses, but none of Jemma’s had held this kind of heat. 

He took it as a welcome sign that she was slowly working the nightmare experience with Harris out of her system, and brought one of his hands up to cup her cheek, silently encouraging her to deepen the kiss further. 

She wasn’t entirely ready for any more than this, and she struggled to resist his encouragements, not wanting to get in over her head and startle herself into a panic attack. Jemma drew back for a moment, her forehead set against his, eyes closed, to catch her breath for a second before returning for more kisses. 

Jemma did manage to relax against him, hips settled squarely over Fitz’, her torso draped up the length of his body, one arm braced to keep her head up where she could keep kissing him. The stroke of his fingers over her skin sent warm sparks through her, her heart full. After the scare at the library with Harris, Fitz had been unfailingly gentle with her. No one else might believe that the prickly Scot had it in him to be like this, and she liked it that way, knowing there was a side of him that only she got to see. 

Fitz was disappointed when she wouldn’t follow him into the deeper kiss; however, his disappointment was quickly chased away by the way she settled her hips over his, her chest pressed firmly against his as she continued to kiss him. He had decided long ago that he could be patient when it came to Jemma, that she was worth the time and the effort, and that he wouldn’t allow anyone to tell him differently. 

He focused instead on gently trading kisses with her, his fingers slowly working against the soft skin of her back, trying to memorize each detail of her as she hovered over him. She broke away from him once more, clearly in need of oxygen, and it was all he could do to grin up at her. “I changed my mind, lass,” he teased, voice slightly rougher than normal and heavy with burgeoning arousal. “I’ll trade th’ pancakes for another hour o’ this. Bu’ th’ bacon is non-negotiable. Tha’ I do still want.” 

“Nope, I promised pancakes and bacon,” Jemma laughed. “And I’m still going to make them if only because I want pancakes now. And if we do this for an hour, things are going to get out of hand… I don’t think either of us are ready for that.” Her tone was soft, reasonable, but also warm and fond. Jemma liked that Fitz was direct about what he wanted. He hadn’t been at first, but she sort of thought he’d picked up that she needed that level of clarity between them after Harris, because he did it often now. 

She returned to the long, drugging kisses, maintaining the initial heat she’d kissed him with, her tongue insistently tangling with Fitz’ as he squirmed beneath her. Jemma broke away, breathless again, when he managed to nudge his hips up perfectly beneath her to cause a sizzle of pleasure to rocket through her. “Definitely not ready for that,” she murmured, suddenly feeling a little shaky. 

Fitz had sucked in a sharp breath when he’d ground against her, the sensation of her center pressed against him setting what felt like each and every one of his nerves on fire. Despite the nearly overwhelming need, he forced his hips down into the mattress, mindful of her saying she wasn’t ready. He drew one of his hands out from under her shirt to brush gently along her jawline, trying to get her look at him. 

He thought he saw a bit of regret when she finally met his gaze, hiding behind the lust that was clearly visible, and Fitz had to choke back his own disappointment. He wanted her, very much so, and it was difficult to convince his body to stop when she was perched above him the way she was. Despite that, he nodded slowly, pulling her back down for a chaste kiss before encouraging her to shift a little bit higher so her hips where positioned above his stomach. It made it more difficult to kiss easily, but at least she wouldn’t feel as if he were pressuring her quite as much from there. 

“Is tha’ better?” he mumbled against her chin as he kissed his way down, switching his focus from her mouth to the pale expanse of her throat. 

Jemma flinched when he carefully shifted her away from him, disappointment clear on his face. She knew she had to be frustrating him but his ever-patient responses and coddling almost made it worse. Sucking in a breath, Jemma struggled with her own emotions. Today was Fitz’ day, not hers. It wasn’t fair to ruin it with her troubles. 

Biting her lip, she pushed back down to where she’d been before and latched her mouth back onto his, determined not to disappoint him a second time. 

He went along with her, wanted to lose himself in the feeling of her kisses, but try as he might, Fitz couldn’t get back to the sweet, yearning place he’d been in a few moments ago. Not with the way Jemma felt beneath his hands now, tense and almost afraid, her entire body on alert. It knotted his insides to think he’d put her in that state, and it wasn’t long before he had to shift her again, lower onto the tops of his thighs this time. 

“Stop, Jem,” he whispered against her temple before nuzzling around to get a look at her face. The confusion there was plain, the hurt nearly palpable, and Fitz found himself wondering how in the hell he’d managed to cock up something that should have been good and easy so completely. He swallowed heavily, trying to find the right words to explain why he was pleading with her to stop. 

“I’m no’ him. An’ I dinnae ever wan’ t’ be like him. Ye dinnae owe me anythin’, especially no’ physically.” Fitz took care to run his hands slowly up her sides, over her back and up to her shoulders, wanting her to know he still wanted her close; he just wanted her to be comfortable, too. “Ye jus’ tol’ me ye weren’t ready, lass, an’ everythin’ about ye screams tha’ ye’re uncomfortable. An’ I cannae do this righ’ now if ye dinnae feel all righ’ with i’.”

…. And yet, she’d managed to ruin it anyway. 

Jemma buried her face against him, shoulders rounding as she ducked far enough to press her forehead against his chest, breathing into the gap between their bodies. She suddenly felt angry, angry at Harris, angry at him, and most of all angry at herself, but it vented on Fitz. Pushing up and back, drawing away from the reach of his petting hands, she scowled, her own hands shaking. 

“Then stop coddling me, Fitz! How am I ever supposed to get past it, if you keep pushing me away every time I flinch? I kissed you, I took it further, but instead of stopping just what I said I wasn’t ready for, you pull back to baby steps. If I’d wanted to stop, I could have pulled back on my own, but I didn’t. It’s your birthday and I can’t even kiss you without it being about me…” Jemma choked on her words when she realized she was about to start crying, which was even worse. How had kissing turned into this? 

“I… never mind. Just… I don’t even know,” she said quickly, blinking away the glossiness coating her hazel eyes. “I’m going to go make breakfast.” Jemma scrambled off the bed and out toward the kitchen. 

It was all Fitz could do to lay there, flabbergasted, as she climbed off him and slipped out of bed. He stared at the ceiling, at a loss for words, and clueless about what to do. He’d wanted to be a gentleman, to not be the pushy bastard Harris had been… but maybe Jemma was right. Maybe he’d been patronizing when he’d meant to be considerate. 

He scrubbed his hands over his face with a low, frustrated groan, and climbed out of bed himself, slipping toward the sound of pots and pans clattering in the kitchen. He leaned against the doorframe, taking in the defeated slump of her shoulders. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Jemma. I dinnae mean t’ upse’ ye. I can try t’ stop th’ coddlin’ if ye wan’.”

Her head jerked up, Jemma’s eyes damp and her cheeks wet, but not actively crying. She stared at him for a moment before dropping the pan she’d pulled out onto the stovetop. In the scant space in the small kitchen, she only had to take a couple steps toward Fitz to be close enough to slide her arms around him and lean her head on his shoulder. “‘M sorry too,” she mumbled, sniffling. “I know you thought you were helping, but I don’t need you to baby me - not anymore.” 

Fitz was beyond relieved when she stepped into him, and wrapped his arms tightly about her shoulders, his cheek coming to rest on top of her head. “I promise t’ listen t’ wha’ ye say an’ no’ assume.” He swallowed heavily, breaking up the tension that was blocking his throat, and pressed a kiss into the curls that had been beneath his cheek. “I think we’ll need t’ be patient with each other, Jemma.” 

He knew there was a better than good chance that he’d still worry he was pushing her too far, but he’d have to break himself of that. He wanted a relationship with her too badly to let worry get in the way. 

She drew back and her mouth quirked a little, just a small hint of a smile. While Jemma might curse their sensitivity sometimes, in others it was a good thing - it meant small things like this could usually be resolved with an apology and a bit of a cuddle. “Can you just trust me to let you know if I need to stop? Or tell you if I need something different? It was only the rubbing up against me that was a little much, Fitz,” she said softly. 

Fitz nodded as he looked down at her, and leaned forward to press a tender kiss to her mouth. “I can manage tha’,” he told her, voice steady. He meant it, too; he could (and would) do whatever Jemma asked of him. He smiled at her, happiness rushing in to take the place his nerves had just vacated. They were going to be just fine. 

“Did ye need any help in th’ kitchen?” he asked, eyes glancing around to see if there was anything she needed him to do. 

Jemma’s little smile widened into a more genuine expression, and she pressed her hand into his chest, gently nudging him back. “I’ve got breakfast under control. Go play on your laptop or something. I’ll let you know when I need you. Although-” she paused, nearly grinning now. “Chocolate, banana or vanilla cinnamon?” She’d add whichever to the pancakes, even though she usually hated additions to hers. 

Beyond that, she had also gotten proper British style rashers of bacon, rather than the streaky kind most Americans preferred, and would make eggs too. “Go on,” she gave him a little more firm push when he hesitated. “Shoo.” 

Fitz allowed her to bully him out of the kitchen, rocking back onto his heels with her gentle push, a grin splayed wide across his mouth now that he knew they were back on even footing. “Chocolate, please,” he responded before kissing her again, this time lingering just a bit before he released her. He caught her fingers with his before he let her get back to work though, and gave them one more affectionate squeeze before settling onto the sofa with his laptop, intent on watching as much Top Gear as he could before breakfast. 

Smile lingering, Jemma made a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, setting them in the oven to stay warm and keep the chocolate melted while she started the scrambled eggs and bacon. She set them over low heat to cook slowly and let the rashers get nice and crispy without burning, and stood there for a second wondering just how she’d gotten here in the space of a month, practically living with a boy. 

She glanced down at the pans and craned her head to peer out into the living room at Fitz, comfortably sprawled over her couch, with his laptop propped on his bent knees. The rush of warmth and affection and maybe even love that filled her was such a sweet feeling, and she really didn’t want to bungle things and lose it. Or him. The food would take a few minutes, so Jemma stole the time to slip over to where he was propped against the arm of her couch. Kneeling behind him. Jemma wrapped her arms around Fitz’ shoulders, leaned her head against his and silently watched the show with him for a moment or two. 

Fitz responded to her touch automatically, bringing a hand up to wrap around her forearm as he tipped his head back to press a kiss to her cheek. He shifted himself on the couch, bringing his laptop along with him, and tugged a bit on Jemma’s arm. “C’mere an’ lie down with me, lass.” 

Three months ago, he never would have believed it if someone told him he’d have practically moved into Jemma’s dorm and would be comfortable demanding physical affection from her. That had simply never been the case before, even with the few girls he’d been brave enough to ask out back home; he had always let them set the parameters and dictate when and how they touched, but with Jemma, he couldn’t bring himself to settle for that. He wanted to touch her all of the time, wanted the reassurance of having her near him, even though logically he knew it wasn’t necessary. Still, he couldn’t help wheedling, “Jus’ a few minutes, until breakfas’ is ready?”

Jemma laughed softly, “Oh, Fitz. You and I both know it wouldn’t be just a few minutes. I’d end up burning breakfast.” She snugged her arms a little tighter around his shoulders in a brief hug, but even when she relaxed Jemma didn’t pull away. She loved that he wanted to be near her and made that clear. Her own anxiety and insecurities needed that reassurance. “I’ll curl up with you after breakfast. Whatever you want - it’s your day.” 

She’d intentionally made sure she had nothing lingering that needed to be done today. The dorm was clean, laundry done. No homework or projects since the Academy was on break. Well, not counting her own projects, but she’d reached appropriate stopping points on those so she wouldn’t be distracted thinking of them. She’d even finished the book she’d been reading yesterday. Now that Jemma was thinking about it, she wondered if Fitz would think it was weird she’d put so much thought into it. 

Catching a faint sizzle from the kitchen, Jemma brushed a kiss against Fitz’ ear and slipped away to check on things.


	14. Chapter 14

Fitz allowed his head to fall back over the arm of the sofa and watched as Jemma made her way back into the kitchen, a soft, content sigh escaping from him as he did so. He had just about all he could ask for at the moment: he’d been allowed to stay at the Academy, his mother had sent over a package of his favorite sweets from home, and best of all a smart, beautiful girl who was willing to kiss him was busy making him breakfast. Though he’d never, ever confess it to his mother, this might just be his best birthday yet. 

The thought caused him to smile more widely as he craned his neck to look over the back of the sofa at the small dining table. It was littered with his papers from last night, random thoughts on different projects that were still percolating in the back of his brain. He hoped some of them would turn out to be useful for the summer project that Jemma had suggested, but he was uncertain as to how, exactly, they’d fit at the moment. 

Regardless, they’d need to move before breakfast, and so Fitz shifted his laptop to the coffee table before pushing himself off the sofa. He went to the table and began organizing his notes in the slipshod way that drove Jemma batty in their lab. He made a mental note to better organize them later, before he shared his thoughts with her, and cleared the remaining papers into his bag before turning to the kitchen to fetch plates, cups, and flatware. 

Jemma turned, spatula in hand, ready to shoo him out of her kitchen when she realized what Fitz was up to. She’d intended to do that on her own, but she also had learned that Mama Fitz had trained her boy well. If Jemma cooked, Fitz set the table and cleaned up after. The habit was ingrained well enough that sometimes Jemma didn’t think it was a conscious choice - Fitz was up to his elbows in soapy water washing dishes before he realized what he was doing. 

Instead of swatting at him, Jemma made a cute face and stepped in closer to the range to let Fitz squeeze in behind her to get to the cabinet she kept the dishes in. “Five more minutes, I think? There’s also juice in the fridge if you want that, or you can put the kettle on.” The kitchenette was small enough that Jemma kept an electric kettle and all her things for tea out near the dining table. 

Fitz let his hand fall to her hip, leaning into her just a bit and pressing a kiss just below her ear before he reached up with his other hand to pull out what they needed. It was slow going, working with only one hand, but he eventually managed to set two plates, two glasses, and the necessary flatware on the counter next to the range. 

“Both. I’ll pu’ out th’ juice and fire up th’ kettle. No’ like it’ll take much t’ clean later.” He leaned forward again, this time to kiss her cheek before taking his hand from her so he could set the table. He made quick work of it, putting out the dishes and filling the kettle before going back for the juice and mugs, his movements self-assured. At this point, he likely knew her kitchen’s set up better than his own, a thought that amused him to no end as he put the finishing touches on Jemma’s morning cuppa. 

“Jem!” he called around the doorframe. “Tea’s done. We nearly ready t’ si’ down?”

“Yes, just a moment,” Jemma replied, shifting food onto serving dishes and transferring the rashers of bacon onto a thick layer of paper towels to let them drain. She handed them out to Fitz before collecting the pancakes from the oven, making sure everything was turned off before she joined him at the table. 

He’d already made her tea the way she liked it, the mug steaming in its place next to her plate at the table, and she pressed a kiss to Fitz’ cheek after setting the pancakes down. “You’re a darling,” she murmured before sliding into her chair. “And happy birthday.” 

His eyes had gone wide when he saw the bacon, cut into proper rashers, and the look he gave Jemma was pure admiration when she came to the table. Fitz knew she must have gone out of her way to find a butcher to get that cut; it was just too difficult to find in an American grocery store. “Thanks,” he murmured to her, both in response to her wishing him a happy birthday and for the food, “this is easily th’ bes’ one yet.”

He loaded his plate up with pancakes, bacon, and eggs and dug in. He might have just grown too used to cafeteria cooking, but Jemma was by far one of the best cooks he knew, although she’d deny it if he tried to tell her as much. Still, he felt compelled to tell her that the meal was fantastic, and he happily made his way through his first plate and promptly went back for seconds. 

“I was thinkin’ tha’ after we clean up breakfas’, we could watch somethin’ for a bi’ an’ then head down to the Harbor Hotel. They have a pretty decen’ rink, if ye’re feelin’ up t’ skatin’.”

“Skating?” Jemma paused mid-bite to blink over at him in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to decide on something that would actually rely on physical coordination. But, it was his day, and if he wanted to go skating, Jemma would go along with it. “Oh, dear. It’s been years and I wasn’t great at it to start with, but I’m game. Let’s go skating,” she said, laughing softly. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too terribly upset if he had to re-teach her how to maneuver in skates. 

She curled up in the chair, one leg bent up with her knee against her chest as she nibbled on one of the rashers of bacon, savoring the much different texture of the British cut bacon compared to the American style. “Anything else on your plan for today, or are we playing by ear?” 

Fitz couldn’t help but smirk a bit at her startled expression; it was rare to catch Jemma off her game, and he relished the chance to surprise her. His small victory gave him a slight dose of confidence, and so he was feeling playful when he responded, “I’s okay. I’m no’ exactly a champion skater, bu’ I think I can manage t’ catch ye if ye start t’ fall.” He capped the statement with a rather cheeky wink before he scooped the last forkful of eggs into his mouth, and took his time chewing.

“As for th’ res’, well, I’m okay playin’ i’ by ear.” He leaned over the table and whispered conspiratorially to her, “Particularly if i’ means cuddlin’ up on th’ couch for a few more hours firs’.”

“I suppose I could be convinced of that,” Jemma said, wrinkling her nose. It still surprised her that Fitz was so cuddly with her. She knew it had been mostly protectiveness at first, but they’d gotten in the habit of sticking close to each other now and it didn’t seem to be easing off. Not that she was complaining, of course. 

When they were done with breakfast, Jemma curled up on the couch. Hugging one of her small pillows to her chest, she listened to Fitz puttering about in the kitchen, cleaning up after their meal. They’d gotten rather domestic, too, she mused. Both of them were finicky about certain things, even if Fitz was rather lackadaisical about laundry. Jemma had every intention of dealing with that, in time. 

The water shut off in the other room and Jemma couldn’t resist twitting him a little. “What’s taking so long? I might just take a nap and forget about cuddling…” she said teasingly. 

Fitz came out of the kitchen and tossed the tea towel he’d been using to dry dishes onto the small table before moving to lean over the back of the sofa. He peered down at her, and gave her a playful pout when she glanced up at him. “Tha’s jus’ cruel, lass, t’ tease a bloke on his birthday.” He slipped around the edge of the sofa to sit next to her, hand coming to rest on her calf as he settled in. 

“I’ looks like ye quit on cuddlin’ already, considerin’ how ye’re sprawled ou’ here. How exactly am I supposed t’ find any space here?” He arched a teasing brow at her as he ran his thumb over her calf, waiting for her response. 

She laughed at him and shook her head. “I’d never be that mean - not on your birthday,” Jemma agreed. It really was Fitz’ day. Even more so now that she knew his Mum had made a big deal of it each year. It was only fair that she focus on him, especially given how fully he’d been focused on her for the past weeks. 

“Clearly, you’ve forgotten the last time I was laying like this on the couch?” It had been in those first days after Harris, and Jemma had been terrified that Fitz would leave, but wanting him close. Just as she’d done then, she slid forward toward the edge of the couch, leaving a gap for him to squeeze in behind her. Arching her eyebrow, Jemma looked up at him, silently questioning. Well, are you going to get over here and cuddle with me or not? 

Fitz didn’t need to be told twice, and slipped into place behind her, his arm snugging around her waist as he nuzzled the soft skin of neck just below her ear. He was becoming spoiled, being able to snuggle up to Jemma like this whenever he saw fit, and he was well aware of it. He just couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Jemma was warm and sweet, on top of being bloody brilliant, and Fitz wasn’t fool enough to give that up for anything in the world. He tugged her a bit closer and gave a content sigh before pressing a soft kiss to the nape of her neck. “So, Jem,” he asked once he settled in behind her, “wha’ are we watchin’?”

She reached out and tugged the coffee table a little closer, Fitz’ laptop perched on top of it. “You’re the birthday boy, you get to choose. More Top Gear? Something else? What else have you even got on the laptop now?” 

Jemma relaxed back against Fitz once the laptop was in a good spot for them both to see the screen, her body molding against his now-familiar warmth. The feeling of his lips brushing the tender skin at the back of her neck made her shiver, fingers catching at his where they laid over her stomach. They were both getting spoiled by how much time they were spending together like this. Jemma was seriously concerned how they’d both handle when they had to stay in separate dorms and go to classes again at the end of January, after six weeks of being together all the time. 

They spent several blissful hours that way, curled up on Jemma’s sofa and trading kisses as Top Gear played on in the background. It was only after Jemma noticed that the episodes had begun looping that they found the will to climb out of the cocoon they’d made, quickly setting the room back into proper order before bundling up and heading for downtown Boston. 

That was how Fitz found himself at the ice rink housed by the Boston Harbor Hotel, holding onto Jemma’s hands as she wobbled in a pair of rented skates. “C’mon, lass, tha’s i’,” he encouraged, grinning at the sight she presented, knit cap pulled low over her ears and eyes trained on the ice as he towed her along. “See, i’s no’ so bad, righ’?” He swung himself around so he could skate next to her instead of in front of her, and gave her hand a squeeze as he promised, “We’ll go ge’ ho’ chocolate after this, Jem. Wherever ye’d like.” 

It really had been years since Jemma had last ice skated, and she’d never been good at it. At least Fitz made a better teacher than her friends had then, explaining the basic physics of getting her body moving on the thin slats of steel. So while she was slow and her ankles shaky as she worked on her balance, Jemma felt more secure. Having Fitz gripping her hands probably helped with that a bit, too. 

When he let go of one of her hands, the fingers of the other immediately tightened around his. “No, not so bad,” she agreed, “But that doesn’t mean let go, either!” She felt a little bad that he couldn’t skate properly while he was with her. Maybe once she’d tired herself out, he could go on and play a little while she rested her feet. 

“Hot chocolate sounds amazing,” Jemma admitted, risking a glance over at Fitz. His blue eyes were lit up with excitement and she let out a little sigh. He was always attractive, but every now and then there was a little something extra that hit her harder than others. This was one of those times, and it brought a sweet little smile to her face despite her uncertainty on the skates.

He chuckled softly at the slight note of panic he heard in her voice when he released her hand and gave her a broad smile. There was something endearing about the way she clung to his hand, and Fitz found that he liked the way she looked to him to keep her balanced as they made their way around the rink. 

He guided her around the rotunda several times, praising her progress as he noticed that her movements became more confident on each lap. Eventually, he was able to adjust his grip on her, slipping one hand around her waist while the other maintained his hold on her fingers, and he brought his mouth closer to her ear to whisper, “Jus’ like tha’, Jemma. Lef’, righ’, lef’, righ’...” Fitz allowed his voice to trail off, confident that she had the feel for it now, and content to just hold her as they glided around the rink, taking in the sights of Boston during the holiday season. 

The third or fourth time around Jemma began to relax, encouraged by Fitz’ enthusiastic praise when she made it without incident, and the slide of his arm around her finally drained the last of it away. She even managed to chat a little and look around rather than watching her feet, enjoying herself rather than just muddling through it. 

“So this is rather more enjoyable than I remember it being,” Jemma said, wrinkling her nose and squeezing his fingers again. “I haven’t fallen even once! You’re a good teacher,” she added, looking over at him with a shy smile. Jemma wasn’t especially good with compliments, but she meant that one. 

Fitz flushed pink at her praise, whispering a quiet thank you and giving her waist a small squeeze as he glanced at the clock hanging near the skate rental stand. They’d been at it for nearly an hour, and Fitz was starting to feel his fingers and toes go numb. He glanced down at Jemma, and gave her a small nudge in the direction of the exit. 

“C’mon, lass, le’s go see about tha’ hot chocolate. I’s gettin’ a little cold ou’ here, even for me.” The truth was, aside from feeling cold, what he really wanted was more alone time with Jemma. Some may have found it odd, with all the time they already spent together, but he really couldn’t get enough time with her, just talking. He wanted more of that now, and there were still details of their trip that needed to be cleared up. Fitz wanted to be tucked away in her dorm for that, where they could curl up under a blanket and go back and forth over what shows they wanted to see. 

Of course, after having such an easy time actually out on the ice at Fitz’s side, Jemma lost her balance coming off the ice and stumbled, nearly taking him down with her. Thankfully Fitz caught her, tugging her close to him. Jemma was happy to hide her blush against his shoulder and avoid everyone else’s gazes for a few moments, and stealing the opportunity to soak in the moment. 

It took a minute for her to feel steady enough to totter over to the benches and pick at the laces before taking the heavy blades off her feet. Jemma shivered and glanced up at Fitz as soon as she had her own shoes back on. “I didn’t really feel the cold as long as I was moving,” she said, making a face. Now she was freezing. 

Fitz grinned at the face she pulled, leaning in to leave a soft kiss on her cheek as he draped his scarf around her neck. Jemma had brought her own, but he figured the extra couldn’t hurt any. He tucked her under his arm for good measure, running his hand briskly over her shoulder in an attempt to warm her a bit as he led them out onto the street. 

“Then le’s keep movin’,” he replied, leaning into her a bit as he scanned the busy thoroughfare, searching for a taxi. He finally spotted one, and hailing it over to the curb, bundled Jemma into the backseat. He slipped in next to her easily and gave the cabbie the intersection for their diner, mouth already watering in anticipation of the giant mugs of hot chocolate they offered in the winter months. 

Even with their heavy coats between them, Jemma leaned into Fitz’ side and the arm he’d draped around her shoulder, watching Boston speed by them as the taxi maneuvered through the streets. Her voice was muffled by his scarf - she’d ducked her face down into it to warm her nose. 

“Skating, and hot chocolate… What else have you got up your sleeve for today?” Jemma honestly hadn’t expected him to turn his birthday celebration into a date. Or that she’d have fun doing something like skating. Perhaps it was true that being with the right person could make just about anything enjoyable. 

It was only late afternoon, he could still have plenty of things in mind for them to get into for the rest of the day. 

Fitz tugged her closer and pressed his lips to the bit of bare skin he could find near her hairline. Jemma’s skin still felt cool to his lips, and he began reconsidering his plans to go window shopping after stopping at the diner. He didn’t want to keep her in the cold any longer. 

“Well, after we ge’ some hot chocolate, an’ maybe some food,” he gave a bashful grin, aware of his ever-grumbling stomach, “how woul’ ye feel abou’ a movie?” There was a small theater near campus that was running a marathon of holiday classics. He hadn’t seen most of them, and there were worse ways than cuddling up with Jemma in a dark theater to pass an afternoon. 

“Maybe some food?” Jemma giggled at him, eyes reflecting her smile with their sparkle and the crinkle around the edges, even though he couldn’t see her mouth. “Oh, Fitz. What are we going to do with your bottomless stomach?” One day his metabolism was going to slow down, but Jemma didn’t figure on it being any time soon. 

She pulled both of her thin gloves off, not for the first time cursing women’s fashion for designing for appearance rather than functionality. After tucking them in her pocket, she reached for Fitz’ hands to let him warm her chilled fingers. “A movie could be fun. Did you have something in mind?” Jemma hadn’t paid much attention to what movies were coming out. That reminded her of the notice she’d seen on the board in her dorm and her voice lifted in excitement. “Oh, wait! Do you mean the holiday thing near campus?” 

Fitz grinned at the way her eyes lit up as she mentioned the very marathon he’d been thinking of, pleased that even with the shift in their relationship they were still so synchronized. He gave her hands a small squeeze before rubbing his fingers over hers, hoping that between slight friction and his own body heat, her fingers would regain their usual warmth. 

“Tha’s th’ one,” he confirmed as he craned his neck to peek over the plastic partition to glance at the clock. “We’ll likely miss th’ firs’ movie, but I think there’s somethin’ like four more after tha’.” The cab pulled up to the diner as he finished speaking, and Fitz reluctantly released Jemma’s hands to reach for his wallet. He peeled off a few bills, instructing the driver and to keep the change and wish him a happy New Year before slipping out of the backseat. 

Spurred on by the sudden shock of stepping into the chill of a New England winter, Fitz grabbed Jemma’s hand, hustling them both into the heat of the diner, and led them to their usual booth in the back corner. 

Jemma hesitated at the edge of the table, considering, before tugging her heavy coat off, hanging it on the hook at the end of the seat and sliding into the bench seat on Fitz’ usual side of the table. She scooted in, settling near the wall to make room for him before slouching a bit and stretching her legs across to rest her feet on the opposite bench. 

She felt lighter than usual, almost purely happy from the fun, easy day she’d gotten to have with him, despite the shaky bit at the start. Jemma patted the space next to her, hazel eyes wide and bright with emotion and anticipation. “C’mere. It’s your fault I’m cold, birthday boy, the least you can do is help me warm back up!” 

Fitz smiled back at her, head cocked to the side as he watched Jemma make herself comfortable on his usual side of the table. He shook off his own jacket, and hanging it up over Jemma’s, slid in next to her. He paused for a minute, considering how much PDA she might be comfortable with, and eventually took the risk of slipping his arm around her waist, hauling her in close to his side. 

He nuzzled her cheek, whispering, “I think I can help ye wit’ tha’,” before dropping a kiss in the same location. Cuddled in next to her, Fitz turned his attention to the rest of the diner, clear blue eyes scanning for the section’s waitress. He drummed his fingers lightly along her hip, fidgeting when he didn’t see her right away. He glanced back at Jemma, and felt his heart speed up in his chest. She looked rather angelic, cheeks high with color from the cold and eyes sparkling, and he fought the urge to snog her senseless right there in the booth. 

“Uh…” he swallowed thickly, trying to get over his sudden impulse, “did ye know wha’ ye wanted, or should I ask for a menu?”

Jemma was perfectly happy to snuggle in at Fitz’ side, letting the warmth of him soak in through her thin sweater. His nuzzle and kiss brought a soft smile to her face and the sparkle he’d noticed to her eyes as she relaxed into the seat and into his hold on her. Anything past simple kissing was a bit too much in public for her, but this - this was good. Comfortable, even. Especially in their diner, even if their usual waitress was going to give them one of those ‘I knew it!’ expressions and probably a scolding when she saw them cuddled together like this. The older woman had been hinting about them for months. 

“Mmm, let me think,” Jemma murmured. They were in here often enough, she knew most of the menu. “Hot chocolate still sounds good. Let’s start with that so I can decide what I want to eat.” Right now, she was too busy thinking about getting warm again. Jemma shivered again and leaned in to press her cheek to the curve of Fitz’ shoulder. 

Fitz felt the shiver run through her, her thin jumper doing nothing to help her retain heat, and wrapped his arm more firmly about Jemma, his head naturally falling to rest against her own. He nodded in agreement, trusting she could feel his motion, and signaled over the waitress, who had finally appeared. The pointed look on the woman’s face as she glanced between the pair of them set him on edge, and he unconsciously slid a bit closer to Jemma, even though space between them was already limited. 

The older woman stopped at the edge of their table, cracked her gum, and pulled out her pad, ready to take their order. Fitz cleared his throat, blushing under her knowing smirk, and managed to order. “Um, two ho’ chocolates wit’ th’ works, please.”

“That all you want, dearie?”

“For now,” he replied, his uncertainty growing with each passing moment he spent under the woman’s scrutiny. “We’re still thinkin’ about’ wha’ we’d like t’ eat’.” The waitress hurried off with a small nod and a lusty wink, leaving Fitz utterly bemused. 

He turned to Jemma, his puzzlement still clearly written on his face, and whispered, “Did she seem off t’ ye? I dinnae think she’s ever winked a’ us before-” He cut himself off when he felt Jemma shiver against him yet again, and glanced down at her, lips pursed and brow furrowed. “Lass, are ye still feelin’ a chill? Did ye wan’ my jumper?” His was at least thicker than Jemma’s and would hold her body heat better, hopefully helping her get warm. 

“She’s been dropping hints about us all semester. You haven’t noticed?” Jemma laughed softly. “I’m surprised she didn’t say or do anything more than that.” She turned a bit to nestle into Fitz’ hold on her, immensely pleased at his willingness to be affectionate with her here, in one of their places, but still a public location. 

She let out a quiet huff at his offer and shook her head, cheek rubbing against his shoulder. “I’ll be fine. It takes a bit for me to warm up all the way. The hot chocolate will help.” Jemma’s thin English blood made for a terrible time for her if she let herself get chilled through. If she’d felt the cold sooner, rather than the false warmth from the unexpected exercise of skating, she’d have let him know long before that she needed a break to warm up. 

As it was, he’d just have to deal with her sticking close by until the shivers stopped. At least these weren’t as bad as the full body, radiating-from-her-belly shivers Jemma got when she was dangerously cold. That had only happened twice, when she’d been stuck outside, exposed to the cold for too long on jaunts with her parents. They’d quickly learned that young Jemma did not tolerate cold well and planned accordingly. 

Jemma did take the opportunity to warm her fingers, tucking them under the hem of his jumper, careful to get between the thick wool and the softer cotton of his undershirt rather than against his bare skin. Letting out a soft sigh of contentment, she relaxed back into the booth and the curve of his arm. With Harris gone, Jemma had slowly started to relax, although she found some of her habits may have permanently changed. 

Wanting to be close to Fitz wasn’t the only reason she’d slid into this seat. It put him between her and anyone trying to get to her, and let her see anyone approaching the table, instead of having her back to the bulk of the diner. Jemma was still wary of anyone getting too close, and surprises shook her far more than they had before. It was a work in progress, but at least she wasn’t shaking out of her skin and popping Ativan like candy anymore. 

He could still feel how chilled her fingers were through his undershirt, and slid his free hand beneath his jumper to cover one of her own. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing, and Fitz settled into the booth, sinking lower as he mimicked her and propped his feet on the bench across from them. “I’ll jus’ have t’ do as a heat source in th’ meantime, lass,” he teased, nudging her shoulder. He wanted to scold her a bit for not saying she was getting too cold, but stopped himself. She had asked for less coddling, and so instead of calling attention to it, he’d just file the information away for future use. 

They sat that way, warming themselves and cuddling as they chatted easily, only breaking off the conversation when their server reappeared, holding two large mugs of hot chocolate, topped with a seeming mountain of whipped cream and chocolate shavings. He only took his hand from hers to slide her mug and saucer in front of her, and to give the waitress a thankful smile. Instead of the welcome he’d been expecting, she arched a brow at him, and cracking her gum, asked, “So, is there anything I can get you two? Menus? Waters? Privacy screen?”

More than a little taken aback, Fitz cut his eyes toward Jemma, looking for any clue as to how to respond to the woman’s implication that they’d need a privacy screen just for cuddling up together in a booth. 

Jemma’s brows drew together. She’d expected a bit of teasing, but this was downright rude and she was determined not to let this woman ruin their day. Sitting up and turning to stare at the woman, Jemma scowled. “If there’s a problem, I’ll be more than happy to speak to the manager and ask for another server. If not, we’d like menus, please.” They knew most everyone on the staff by this time - the manager wouldn’t be pleased to have regular customers upset and both Jemma and the waitress knew it.

The older woman scowled, but bit her tongue and didn’t make any further comments. “I’ll be back in a minute.” 

She disappeared into the back toward the kitchen and Jemma sat back with a huff. “Well, that was uncalled for.” 

Fitz leaned in to drop a lingering kiss to her cheek, and wrapped his arm a bit more snuggly about her before turning to his hot chocolate. Despite her harsh commentary, their server certainly hadn’t skimped on either mug, and Fitz cautiously raised his to his lips. It was sweet and just the perfect temperature, sending a welcome wave of warmth all the way to his toes. 

“I’ was uncalled for, bu’ a’ least she straightened out when ye said somethin’. If she does i’ again, we can talk t’ the manager,” he promised Jemma as he nudged her own hot chocolate before her. “Bu’, in th’ mean time, try some ho’ chocolate. I’s really good.” Despite being distracted by her anger with their server, Fitz could feel the slight tremors working their way through Jemma’s body as it tried to warm up. He was starting to grow concerned, and wanted to be sure she drank her hot chocolate while it was still hot enough to make a difference. 

“Yes, at least there’s that. I don’t want to get her in trouble, but the privacy screen comment was a bit much. I do hope she’s more cordial when she comes back.” It took her another minute or two for the faint grumpiness she felt to fade and to settle back down, slipping down in the seat again to brace her feet against the opposite booth. Her shivers were easing some, too, and she gratefully curled her fingers around the warm mug. 

Jemma carefully lifted it and started to sip, laughing softly and wrinkling her nose when she ended up with whipped cream on it. She was reaching for a napkin when Fitz’ hand on her arm gave her pause. 

He reached out and brushed his thumb over the tip of her nose, making sure to pick up all of the whipped cream she’d smeared there before popping it into his own mouth. He grinned at her shocked expression and teased, “Wha’? Did ye really think I would jus’ let perfectly good whipped cream be wasted on a napkin? For shame, Jemma.”

She continued to stare at him, her expression somewhere between shocked and disbelieving, and so Fitz, acting on impulse, took a swig of his own drink, taking care to smear whipped cream on his own nose. “Now, c’mon, Jemma, an’ tell me tha’ ye’re okay wit’ lettin’ tha’ go t’ waste on a napkin?” He raised his brows at her, eyes shining with mirth, as he waited for her to respond. 

Jemma's eyes narrowed, but feeling playful now that she was warming up and the waitress was off on the other side of the diner, she giggled. "Okay, fine." Leaning up, she braced on Fitz's shoulder a she licked the whipped cream from his nose, deliberately being rather wet and sloppy about it, just to see what her finicky Fitz would do about it. 

He grimaced at her actions, even as he chuckled a bit, his hands coming up to brace on her shoulders. 

“Jemma!” he whined. “Tha’... tha’s endearin’, really, bu’ c’mon, lass. D’ ye have t’ make i’ quite so wet?” Still, Fitz merely sighed and let her finish, a slight pout decorating his lips. He allowed her to draw back from him, noting her pleased little grin. “I was much kinder t’ ye, lass,” he chided her gently, with no heat behind it. Jemma was near to him, and apparently pleased with herself, and he didn’t much care to take her out of her good mood, even if his nose was now covered with saliva. 

Taking the forgotten napkin up again, Jemma wrinkled her nose even as her eyes sparkled, wiping Fitz’ nose dry. “That’s what you get, darling. You certainly could have licked the whipped cream off my nose too, but you didn’t,” she sniffed, trying not to laugh. She buried her face against his shoulder instead, hiding the amusement, and reaching an arm around his waist to hug him close. 

The lingering chill in her body was finally fading, but she didn’t want to let him go. Fitz’ warmth felt good, but he also felt good. Jemma was growing addicted to having him near, in her arms or snuggled against her. She nuzzled in against his jumper and lingered there, taking in the scent of his cologne and his own personal scent underneath that. 

“So I’m darlin’ now, am I?” Fitz teased her gently, face ducked down to press against Jemma’s chestnut curls as his hand found hers on his waist. The angle was awkward, but he managed to thread their fingers together, giving her hand a small squeeze. He quite liked the endearment, even though it made him blush a bit, tinging his cheeks and the tips of his ears pink, although he suspected that was solely because it was Jemma using it. 

“Now and then. Maybe.” Jemma laughed softly, the sound muffled by Fitz’ sweater. She sat up, reluctantly letting him go to return her attention to her mug. She hadn’t consciously intended to call him darling, it had just slipped out, but she’d often thought of him that way, affectionately, when he’d done something to make that swell of warmth rise in her chest. Knowing he’d let her get away with things - like licking all over his nose in public - that he’d bristle at from anyone else, made her happy. 

She was more careful this time to not get whipped cream all over her nose, licking at the sweet foam and creating a space where she could get to the hot chocolate beneath it. Jemma let out a soft little sigh of contentment as the warm liquid hit her belly. Warm again, cuddled in next to Fitz on what felt like a very real date, with chocolate, made her happy in ways she’d started to fear she never would again, after Harris.

Fitz couldn’t bring himself to pull away from her, even with the way the waitress glanced at them as she brought them their menus. He was too happy, too content sitting there with her to let that bother him. The happy, bubbly feeling floating through his veins didn’t dissipate, enduring even through their meal of greasy chips and hot sandwiches. He liked the way her shoulder kept bumping into his as they ate, making him grin like an absolute fool. 

Even after Fitz paid their bill and they slipped out of the diner, Jemma tucked snuggly under his arm to ward off the cold, the smile stayed plastered across his face. They rushed to the theater, Fitz quickly sliding the attendant money for tickets before they bustled inside. He’d been right, and they’d missed the first movie, and a good portion of the second, but that was all right with Fitz. He wasn’t here so much for the movies as he was to be with Jemma. 

The theater was only half full, and the seats had been updated from the old, thinly padded ones to plushly cushioned ones. Jemma was pleased to find the armrests were adjustable as well. She tugged her coat off and set about making herself comfortable, pushing armrests up so she could sprawl across seats and lean against Fitz. Her coat she pulled up over her to act as a blanket as she settled in to watch the movies. Honestly, she wasn’t even concerned about the movies playing, but rather a long held wish to do normal ‘dating’ things. Like cuddling - and maybe making out - in a dim movie theater. 

Fitz lifted his arm automatically as he watched Jemma create a mini nest for herself in the two seats next to him, offering her a place to curl up against him. For his own part, he’d taken advantage of the empty seat in front of him to prop his feet up on the unused armrests, slouching down slightly. His position was not only comfortable for him, but had the added benefit of giving Jemma an easy place to rest her head, if she wanted it.

He allowed his arm to drape along her side, his hand coming to splay across her stomach beneath her jacket-turned-blanket, and tried to turn his attention to the movie. He managed to watch just long enough to catch the gist of the film, and while he wasn’t surprised that his mother told him no, Fitz could certainly sympathize with a boy that wanted a Red Rider BB gun for Christmas. 

Despite his best efforts to enjoy the movie, he couldn’t place all of his focus on what was playing out on the screen. He was distracted by the brunette resting on his shoulder, the scent of her shampoo and the softness of her jumper beneath his fingers infinitely more interesting than the saga of the leg lamp. He cut his eyes over to Jemma, trying to not be obvious as he drank her in, fascinated by the way the light from the screen played across her face. 

Sooner or later, Fitz figured he’d stop being surprised at how he could find Jemma stunningly beautiful no matter the situation, but today wasn’t that day. Lips tugging upward at the thought, he brought his free hand up to her chin, tilted her mouth towards him, and leaned in to brush a kiss across her lips. 

Jemma relaxed completely after the first few minutes of quiet cuddling, her head nestled against the thick weave of Fitz’ heavy winter jumper. After a bit, she’d reached to tangle her fingers with his under her coat, pulling their joined hands up to rest between her breasts. Content, feeling warmly affectionate and torn between paying attention to the movie and paying attention to him, Jemma was almost ready to doze when Fitz brushed the fingers of his other hand against her chin. 

The press of his lips against hers was soft, just a whisper of touch between them. Fitz was being careful with her as he had been since everything happened, and it never failed to make Jemma’s heartbeat pitter-patter in her chest. Turning to face him, her feet sliding down to the floor, Jemma nuzzled against his neck before lifting her face for more kisses. 

Jemma’s words from that morning rang through his mind, her request to not treat her as if she were made of glass. She wanted him to be less cautious with her, to loosen his hold on his fear of hurting her just a bit more, and so Fitz did just that. He sat up, pressing his lips more firmly to hers as the arm he had wrapped around her worked to pull her closer. The raised arm rest worked in his favor, and he was able to turn her in her seat so her legs draped over one of his own. 

Pleased with her closeness, and no longer concerned in the least about what was going on in the film, Fitz’ hand slipped over her hip as he leaned into her a bit more and shifted his focus from her mouth to her neck. 

She couldn’t help herself. Jemma let out a quiet little noise when Fitz confidently pulled her closer, arranging her body against his to his liking. He wasn’t aggressive about it; it didn’t feel grabby or forced, and Jemma didn’t feel overpowered. If she drew back, he’d let her go and they both knew it. There were a few beats of time when she waited for the panic to rise, but there was nothing but warm affection and trust. Fitz wouldn’t hurt her. 

Reassured, Jemma pulled him closer, her arm draping over his waist as she tipped her head to give Fitz space. The feeling of his mouth on her neck made her shiver, and she gave as good as she got. Craning her head, Jemma caught Fitz’ earlobe in her mouth and sucked gently before sliding the scant inch or so down to the little hollow just below his ear and licking it.


	15. Chapter 15

Fitz gasped as her tongue found one of his most sensitive spots, eyes slamming shut and cheeks flushing as he realized just how loud he’d been. Fortunately, the sounds of the movie seemed to have covered for him, and he was able to let go of his momentary embarrassment. He tipped his head back against the headrest, just enjoying Jemma’s enthusiasm. In the weeks since Harris, she’d become more eager to touch him, and while he’d still been hesitant to push too far, it was finally dawning on him that being too controlled with her really could be more harmful in the long run. And the proof of the benefits of trusting Jemma to know her own limits was sitting, quite literally, in his lap. 

Well, Fitz thought to himself as he nuzzled her jaw in an attempt to bring their mouths back together, he couldn’t be a genius about everything. But he could be taught, and luckily Jemma seemed more than up to the task. 

Jemma grinned; she’d heard his gasp, even if no one else had. She was glad that she’d finally told Fitz to stop babying her. If she hadn’t, this might not be happening right now. He’d been so careful of her before that it had been frustrating them both. All Jemma wanted was affection and attention, and today had been near perfect. This, making out like any other teenagers in a movie theater, was more than she’d expected. 

Her fingers crept up to his shoulder to fist into the soft fabric of his jumper. Not that she expected he’d try to go anywhere, but just because she wanted to keep him close. Following the direction of his gentle nuzzling, she let her head tip back to where Fitz could kiss her properly. Jemma teased them both a little, resisting the urge to deepen the kiss and keeping them to soft, almost chaste brushes before she changed things entirely by carefully nipping at Fitz’ lip and sliding her tongue past his teeth when his jaw went slack in surprise. 

Fitz’ fingers tightened in surprise at the suddenly eager way Jemma was plundering his mouth, her tongue brushing against his in a way that made each and every one of his nerve endings stand on end. It took him a moment, but he was able to shake off his own surprise in order to kiss her properly, matching her easily as she moved them through the kiss. 

He tugged her as close as he could, giving in to his desire to have her completely invade his personal space while avoiding doing anything that could have them removed from the theater. While he wished they were tucked away in one of their dorms, safe from prying eyes, Fitz found that he was grateful in an odd way that they were in a public venue. Being in public meant he worried less about pushing Jemma too hard in one direction in another; he trusted himself to self-correct before he’d do anything that would result in their being expelled from the theater.

Finally confident, not only that Jemma trusted him but also in his ability to pull back if she needed him to, Fitz allowed his hands to wander a bit, one gently winding into her hair to hold her where he wanted her, while the other slipped just beneath the hem of her jumper to brush against the impossibly soft skin of her lower back. 

Jemma sighed against Fitz’ mouth when his fingers tunneled into her hair, bracing her against his advances. The muscles of her back went warm and lax even as her nerves went on high alert. This is Fitz, she reminded herself again, and you know he’ll never hurt you. She suspected she might have to remind herself of that often if they kept this up - at least until her body relearned that kisses and caresses could be good again and not hurtful like Harris’. 

She wasn’t quite in his lap. Jemma had a feeling that having both his arms - he was stronger than he looked - wrapped around her while this was going on might be a little too much. Being pressed against Fitz’ side, her legs draped over his, was good. Great, even. Jemma shivered when the fingers on her lower back rubbed over her skin, extra sensitive from being touched so rarely, and drew back from his mouth. “Fitz…” she began, but drifted into silence, her forehead pressed against his as she returned to softer kisses that let her catch her breath. 

It might be something like three steps forward and two back, but Jemma was okay with that as long as Fitz was willing to be patient with her. 

Fitz froze at the sound of his name, regret creeping in even as he braced to withdraw as soon as Jemma asked him. The idea that he’d simply been too enthusiastic pained him a bit; he really had meant to be more careful than that, and more than anything he wanted Jemma to enjoy kissing him. Despite the ping of regret, Fitz stopped himself from pulling away first, wanting to let her make that decision on her own. 

A wave of relief rushed through him when Jemma didn’t pull away from him after whispering his name. He could handle the softer, slower pace of the kisses she chose to bestow on him, and dialed back his own intensity to match hers. He considered slipping his hand out from beneath her sweater, but instead opted to keep his digits as still as possible. He didn’t want her to think he was babying her by removing his hand, and if he were perfectly honest, he simply liked the feeling of having her warm skin beneath his fingers. 

If Jemma asked, of course he’d move his hand, he wasn’t a complete cad, but for now he was content to allow his fingers to linger, keeping the pressure light as he simply soaked in the feel of her. 

Jemma felt Fitz still, and her fingers crept up to brush against his jaw. “I couldn’t breathe for a second,” she said softly, “I’m okay. I think. Just… need a little patience, still.” The last thing she wanted was for him to back off, lose confidence in her feelings for him or think he had to stop completely. It certainly wasn’t that she didn’t want this. If anything, Jemma desperately wanted to have this moment with him, where she felt normal again, just a young woman enjoying a movie with her boyfriend and getting a bit distracted by him. 

Curling further into Fitz’ hold, Jemma deepened the kisses a little, but tried not to let things get quite so heated as before. She didn’t know how to tell him that the touching was okay, at least the way he’d been slowly stroking her back, but Jemma did let out a soft, pleased noise when his fingers moved next. 

“Okay,” Fitz breathed against Jemma’s mouth. “Wha’ever ye wan’.” 

Carefully, Fitz slid his hand from Jemma’s hair, his fingers caressing over her jaw and drifting down over her arm before coming to rest on her knee. He traced the contour of it with his thumb as she darted her tongue against his lower lip once more, and he could finally feel himself relax back into the moment. As he relaxed, his fingers resumed rubbing nonsense patterns on the small of her back. He still couldn’t get over how smooth and soft it was, and even though he knew he was getting ahead of himself, he found himself wondering if she was just as soft everywhere. 

He sighed shakily into her mouth, more than a hint of want tinging the soft noise. He pulled back so he could take a deep breath, and flashed her a small smile in the dim light of the theater. “Ye know ye’re amazin’, righ’? An’ tha’ ye turn me into a total sap?”

Jemma relaxed as well. Fitz was getting awfully good at being sensitive to what she needed, never making her feel like she was a nuisance. Her own feelings about what she saw as a weakness were another story, but he made it so much easier than it could have been, recovering from Harris’ attack, just by being so easy-going. She glanced at him, worried, when he sighed, but his expression brought a smile to her face. 

It seemed so unlikely that he wanted her, wanted to be here even if it meant coddling her a bit. Jemma flushed pink at Fitz’ soft words and bit her lip shyly. “I don’t think so, but… less talking, more kissing,” she murmured. If she started debating whether she was amazing or not, they’d both get distracted and she didn’t want to upset him, either. 

She’d been leaning into him as she spoke, silently encouraging him to kiss her again, and Fitz doubted she even saw the disappointment flash in his eyes. He’d been honest with her, as honest as he knew how to be; he found her amazing in every conceivable way, and it stung more than a bit that she had brushed it so easily aside. 

It wasn’t even her beauty he found amazing, although he certainly appreciated it, and it was more than just her brain as well. He’d known she was smart from the word go. No, he was amazed at how easily she coped with his finicky moods; he’d never admit it in public, but Fitz knew he was prickly and difficult to deal with even on a good day. Jemma had met the challenge with apparent ease, something even his own mother had trouble with at times. And as for Harris… she’d had the wherewithal to fight him off, and when she was asked to relive it for Agent Weaver’s inquiry, she’d handled that with aplomb, too, even though he knew she’d been nervous as hell. 

As his lips met hers again, nothing more than a soft slide against each other, Fitz reaffirmed that he’d never known and likely would never meet another girl like Jemma Simmons. And in that moment, he just felt lucky to be able to hold and kiss her, and looked forward to hopefully having the opportunity to show her just how amazing he found her. 

He didn’t say anything and he went back to kissing her, but something - some vague sixth sense developed over the past months - told Jemma that she’d messed up. His fingers had stilled their gentle patterns on her back, for one thing, his fingertips pressing in and almost clutching at her. Her first instinct was to take blame for whatever was wrong on herself, and she drew back to catch his eyes with hers. “What did I do wrong?” Jemma asked softly, biting her lip. 

“I don’t think it’s that you don’t want to kiss me… Or at least, I hope not,” she continued, her voice dropping into a whisper as things went tight in her chest. Jemma’s eyes burned suddenly and she let them drift closed until she had the sudden urge to cry under control. “I can’t even manage to make out with my boyfriend in a movie theater without messing it up somehow,” she mumbled, more to herself than to him. 

“Hey, shh, Jem, i’s okay,” he whispered as he brought a hand up to cup her cheek. “Ye dinnae mess up anythin’. I jus’ wish ye could see wha’ I see is all.” Fitz’s lips quirked upward as he spoke, doing his best to reassure her that everything really was fine, at least from where he was sitting. 

He’d been so bloody patient with her all this time, and she kept ruining all the moments that should be building between them, should be special and memorable. They were, but not for the right reasons. Jemma was suddenly terrified again, irrationally scared that Fitz was fed up with her neediness despite calling her amazing. And that’s where she stilled, sucking in another breath in sudden understanding. Fitz didn’t compliment people much, even her, except in passing and usually when something had gone very right in the lab. Jemma had been selfishly thinking of herself and being normal again and it hadn’t registered that he’d gone out of his way to say something sweet other than to instantly deny it. 

Even if she didn’t believe it - certainly she didn’t feel amazing, being so stupid as to go with Harris that night - Fitz wasn’t in the habit of saying things he didn’t mean. “Oh, Fitz. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean to… god, I’m terrible at accepting compliments that aren’t about my brain,” she said with a laugh, but there wasn’t much humor in it. Indeed, her eyes had filled again. 

“Ach, I dinnae mean t’ make ye cry. C’mere.” Fitz huddled her closer to his chest, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder as he pressed his lips to her crown. “I think ye know tha’ I only say wha’ I mean. So, can I ask tha’ ye’ll trus’ me when I complimen’ ye?” he murmured to her, voice kind. “I’s no’ tha’ differen’ from wha’ ye asked me t’ do this mornin’. Trus’ tha’ I willnae lie t’ ye, Jemma. Please?”

Jemma’s hands slipped around Fitz’s sides to cling tightly to him. The way he tugged her close was reassuring and loosened some of the tightness in her chest, but she still felt terrible. “I don’t know what to say when you say things like that. I don’t think you’re lying, but it’s an opinion that I don’t understand. I don’t look in the mirror and see ‘amazing’, Fitz,” Jemma said softly, trying to explain. “I feel broken. I don’t want to be weak anymore, I want to move on and live and be normal. I want this; to go ice skating together. Stop at the diner and giggle over hot chocolate. To be able to cuddle up to you in a dark theater and miss an entire movie because we’re so wrapped up in each other. It was all going so well until just now.” 

“I think i’s still goin’ well, lass,” he whispered as he kissed her temple. He paused for a moment, struggling to find the words to express what he wanted to say without sounding like a completely egotistical bastard. In the end, he decided to just go for it. 

“Jemma, tha’s exactly why ye are amazin’.” Fitz met her eyes, fully expecting the disbelieving look she was leveling at him. “Dinnae ge’ me wrong, lass, I love yer brain, bu’ no’ th’ way everyone else does. I love yer brain because ye can keep up wit’ me. I’ve never had tha’ until now. Tha’s why we’re partners, and damn good ones a’ tha’.” He lifted his eyebrows at her, hoping to drive home that point before pressing on.

“Bu’ wha’ really impresses me abou’ ye is how ye’ve handled this entire situation,” he confessed, bringing his hand up quickly to cut off her protest. “Listen, mos’ people woul’ have buckled righ’ after. They woul’ have lef’ S.H.I.E.L.D. an’ never looked back. Bu’ ye refused t’ be scared off campus, an’ ye wen’ t’ Weaver even when i’ woul’ have been easier t’ le’ me go on my own. Tha’s bravery, Jemma, an’ tha’s wha’ I find so bloody impressive abou’ ye.” 

Fitz shifted them both so he could kiss her properly, his mouth lingering sweetly over Jemma’s before pulling away. He grinned at her, clearly feeling more playful, and teased, “Although th’ brains an’ beauty are well appreciated, too.” 

Jemma was blushing a deep, dark shade of pink as Fitz spoke, rather ridiculously pleased and flattered by his compliments and was thoroughly distracted by that and then his kiss. He had twisted to press her back against her own seat, neatly pinning her in place, and to Jemma’s intense pleasure her nerves didn’t so much as twitch at having him so close and restricting her movement. However then he spoke again. 

It took her a moment too long to understand what he’d said, the cheeky grin on his face bringing a laugh to her lips. Even when it registered and the scowl twisted her mouth she couldn’t help her mirth. Jemma poked him hard in the ribs on both sides where her arms were wrapped around him. “You berk!” she giggled out.

Her glee was contagious, and that, combined with her sharp poke in his rather ticklish sides, caused him to guffaw aloud, drawing the ire of their fellow movie goers. 

“Shh!”

“Be quiet!”

“Y’all been talking through the whole damn movie!” 

Fitz stifled his laughter enough to raise his hands above his seat in the universal gesture of apology, and hissed, “‘M sorry. Sorry. We’ll qui’ talkin’ now.” His eyes slid over to Jemma, who had ducked low in her seat in apparent mortification. However, despite her embarrassment at being scolded, she had pinned her lower lip between her teeth in an apparent attempt at quieting her own laughter. He found it ridiculously endearing, and had to fight to keep himself from giving in to the urge to just kiss her again. 

Instead he wrapped an arm about her shoulders, and pulling her close whispered, “Ye jus’ go’ me in trouble, lass. Now this lot thinks I dinnae know how t’ behave in a cinema.” He arched a brow at her in imitation of her own famed expression. “How d’ ye plan t’ make tha’ up t’ me?”

Still trying to resist her bottled laughter, Jemma buried her face tightly into Fitz’ shoulder, muffling her mirth and continued giggles into the thick weave of Fitz’ jumper. “I was-” she spoke between gasps of air as she tried to get herself back under control and catch her breath while still keeping her voice low. “Perfectly happy- with kissing. You- wanted- to convince me- I’m amazing,” she pointed out. 

Her arms rose to loop around Fitz’ neck, Jemma’s body lax and loose after her bout of laughter, and relaxed back into her seat, using her hold on him to keep Fitz close. “So am I ever going to get more of those, or are we going to have to leave and find somewhere else for me to make out with you like a silly teenage girl?” she whispered, finally nearly sober again. 

Her hold on him forced Fitz to his previous position, pressed in close to her body, and he found himself licking his lips in anticipation as his eyes darted over her face. Jemma’s expression was rather saucy, brow arched in a challenge and eyes level as she waited for him to make his move. 

“Shame t’ waste a perfectly good, dark cinema, no?” he teased as he leaned in, closing the scant inches between them and pressing his lips to hers. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that she hadn’t panicked when he pressed her back like this earlier, and he did it again, taking his time and easing back into it. Gradually, their kisses grew more heated, hovering just on the edge of where they’d been before. 

They passed the rest of the afternoon and a good part of the early evening that way, trading kisses and sweet whispers as the seemingly endless string of movies played out on the screen before them. It was the best money Fitz had ever spent. 

When they arrived back at Jemma’s dorm later that night, the biochemist was giggling helplessly at something Fitz had said on the way up in the elevator. Her eyes blurring with mirthful tears and her hands shaking, she fumbled getting the key into the lock and stumbled inside when the door swung open, tugging Fitz along after her. 

Once the door was closed and locked behind her, tears still making her hazel eyes bright and glossy, Jemma turned into his arms, pushing Fitz back against the door and clinging a bit. “Thank you,” she murmured, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” A piece of her felt like the repetition was necessary to get her point across. “I feel normal for the first time in weeks.” 

The air whooshed from his lungs as his back hit the door, pinned in place by Jemma’s slight weight against his chest. Fitz wrapped his arms around Jemma’s shoulders in response, holding her close as she pressed into him further, and tilted his head forward to nuzzle into the crown of her head. He held there for a few moments longer, and pressed a kiss to her dark curls before curling his fingers beneath her jaw and gently forcing her to look up at him. 

“Ye’re welcome, Jem, but I should be thankin’ ye,” he confessed in the dark of her common room. “I jus’ had my bes’ birthday ever, and i’s all because we spen’ th’ day together. So, Jemma, thank ye for everythin’.” He punctuated his point by leaning down and kissing her, slow and sweet, before pulling away once more to grin down at her. 

Jemma returned the smile, hers beaming even in the dim light. She wasn’t sure if he could see the bright blush from his words, pleased that he was happy too, but that might have been for the best. Lifting onto her toes for one more kiss, Jemma released Fitz and moved to set her bag on the table and drape herself onto the couch. 

“It was a wonderful day. Even if we didn’t see any of the movies, really,” she said with a little nose wrinkle, reaching to turn on a small lamp. It cast a warm, soft yellow light through that side of the room, enough to see by, but nowhere near bright. Jemma had long since discovered that she was under fluorescent bulbs so much in the lab and all the academy buildings that she hated it to be too bright in her own space. 

She cast a significant look at the empty space next to her. “C’mere, you.” Much to her surprise, Jemma was still feeling playful, bubbled happiness still floating through her. 

Fitz felt oddly light, practically buoyant, as he took in Jemma, who was grinning up at him from her sofa. He’d meant what he had said, that the day had been perfect in every way, and being here, with her, made it even more so. He turned to lock the door, then made his way to the sofa. 

He considered just sitting next to her, but at the last minute changed his mind, and laid himself over the remaining space on sofa, his head landing firmly in Jemma’s lap. Fitz gave her a small grin, his hand coming up to capture her own so he could bring it to his mouth and press a kiss to her palm. “Hi, Jem,” he murmured, his tone relaying his pleasure at being so near to her as he settled in further. 

“Hi, Fitz,” Jemma let out a little sound of contentment as Fitz laid their joined hands over his chest and relaxed into her couch. She’d noticed more and more often that Fitz had made himself at home in her dorm first, after Harris, and now he was making himself at home with her. There was less hesitation about touching her, fewer times when she could practically see him second guess himself before doing something. That comment about coddling her truly seemed to have sunk in for him today. 

She shifted slightly beneath his head, getting herself comfortable, and the fingers of her free hand delved into his curls. Arching her fingers to scratch Fitz’ scalp, Jemma traced slow and random patterns as comfortable silence filled the space between them. 

Fitz tilted his head into her touch, groaning softly as she lightly ran her nails through his hair and across his scalp. It was calming, and made him feel more than a tad spoiled, which in truth he was quickly becoming, what with the way he’d grown used to touching and being touched by Jemma. He hadn’t even realized he’d been so touch-starved, but now after having it, Fitz doubted he could go back to where he’d been before. 

His eyes drifted shut, and he relaxed there for a few moments just enjoying her company as his mind darted from subject to subject. Eventually, Fitz hit upon something he was curious about, and without opening his eyes, asked, “Jemma? Why’d ye decide to come t’ S.H.I.E.L.D. in th’ firs’ place?”

Taken by surprise by his quiet question, it took Jemma a moment to process and then frame her answer. It was complicated in some ways and extraordinarily simple in others. “Well, it certainly wasn’t my first choice,” she admitted. “SHIELD recruiters approached my parents when I was fourteen, just before I graduated secondary school. They were… rather heavy-handed by all accounts, and my parents weren’t pleased. The only problem was that I went looking for work after my first doctorate and no one wanted to take a risk on an underage genius. I went back for the second one and when all was said and done, SHIELD was the only place willing to take me on, no questions asked.” 

She hesitated before continuing, knowing he knew some of what she was about to say, but never framed quite this way. “I’m not fond of the secrecy, or being away from home, but it also seemed like the only way I could do science but not be stuck in a lab for the rest of my life. I like the lab, don’t get me wrong,” she said hurriedly, “But I want to do field work, too. Find new species of life, experiment and be the first to see things no one else has.” 

Fitz opened his eyes and tilted his head to look up at her as best he could, attention drawn by the slightly dreamy quality her voice had taken on at the end. The story of her recruitment hadn’t surprised him; in truth, it had been much the same with him, only his mother had caved much more quickly. Fitz had been excited to have access to a fully stocked lab, and his mum had been drawn by S.H.I.E.L.D.’s promise to cover his tuition. The fact that the local constabulary would no longer be knocking on her door asking about her son’s latest explosive “experiments” was merely a bonus. 

“Ye’d be good wit’ fieldwork,” he murmured. “I dinnae think there’s anythin’ tha’ can shake ye. Ye need steady nerves like tha’ t’ leave th’ lab.” His expression fell a bit as he stopped and considered what he’d just said. “I’m no’ like tha’. Ye saw how I reacted t’ th’ liver. I twitch a’ everythin’ before settlin’ in. No team leader would be willin’ t’ have me.” Fitz tried to keep his tone light, but a hint of self-deprecation still showed through. 

Jemma stilled at Fitz’ words, her expression shifting as she looked down at him. She hadn’t meant to ruin the mood and make things serious again after their day. There had to be a way to fix this. “Everyone has things they’re better at than others. My nerves in the lab might be steadier than yours, but lately anywhere else that’s definitely not been true. I also don’t have the dexterity you do or the ability to think on my feet.” 

“Or your knack for keeping my nerves from getting to me too badly...” Her fingers abandoned his hair in favor of tugging at his arm. “C’mere, birthday boy. It’s been a wonderful day. No getting sad on me now, or I’ll be sad too and I’ve had enough of that lately.” 

Fitz followed willingly, peeling himself off of Jemma’s lap to sit up beside her on the sofa, although before long he fell into his more typical slouch, his shoulder pressing into her arm. He hadn’t meant to veer so drastically off track; he’d been relaxed, enjoying the way Jemma’s fingers played through his hair and the way he could feel her voice rumble against his cheek a bit as she spoke, but her words had been a painful reminder that they might not always be together. 

He glanced up at her, just drinking her in and taking a moment to appreciate just how lucky he was that, despite everything that had happened, Jemma had still decided that he was worth her time and effort. He couldn’t afford to worry about the future and what might happen, not at the expense of missing the present with her. Fitz gave her a small, but genuine, smile and placing his hand on her knee, implored, “Come kiss me, Jem. Please?”

The smile might have been genuine, but there was still something in Fitz’ tone that wasn’t right and Jemma wanted her snarky-sweet engineer back. Rather than do exactly as he asked, Jemma turned and slid over to straddle his lap. Heedless of the implied intimacy of the position, she snuggled close, wanting to keep him from sliding into the kind of moping she’d become so accustomed to for herself. 

Instinctively understanding where Fitz’ mind had gone, Jemma curled her fingers behind his neck and into his hair, rubbing gently as she pressed kisses all over his face before reaching his mouth. “Where I go, you go. We’re partners and that’s that,” she said before finally giving him the requested kiss, slow and sweet. “I’m not half as brilliant in the lab without you, Fitz. SHIELD would be foolish not to keep us together.”

Jemma’s weight in his lap was warm and unexpected, given her prior warnings about too much too soon, but not at all unwelcome. Carefully, so as not to startle her off of him, Fitz settled his hands on her waist and took a minute to appreciate the soft feeling of her jumper beneath his fingers before his eyes slipped shut so he could focus on the feeling of her kisses. 

They warmed him nearly as much as her words did, even though he knew the likelihood of them being kept partnered throughout their tenure with S.H.I.E.L.D. was next to nil. It didn’t matter what the bureaucracy wanted in that moment; no, what mattered to Fitz was that Jemma clearly wanted him, both now and in the future. He grinned up at her, wider and far more convincingly this time. “Well, I cannae argue wit’ logic like tha’. I doub’ Commander Fury could, either,” he joked before drawing her back in for another series of kisses. 

Pleased that she’d successfully drawn him back up from his nosedive, Jemma laughed softly at his comment. “Okay, so it might not be entirely realistic, but really. We’re better together. We just need to prove that to everyone else. Even Commander Fury, if we have to,” she said firmly, between his kisses. After a bit, she rubbed her nose affectionately against his and broke away to lay herself against him, head nestled comfortably on Fitz’ shoulder. 

Her fingers crept up Fitz’ sides, tucking her hands between his biceps and sides to keep them warm in the folds of his jumper. The later it got the evening, the more the air in her dorm chilled, and she hadn’t thought to turn the heat on when they’d come in, too focused on him. At least his body heat would keep her from having to move for a little bit longer, she mused, nuzzling the side of Fitz’ neck and settling in. 

Fitz wasn’t sure how long they sat there like that, snuggled up on her sofa, but knew it was long enough for him to get to thinking about how drastically his life had changed in the course of the past four months. He’d gone from being a reclusive, snarky engineering cadet who hadn’t wanted to let anyone in to this: still reclusive, still snarky, still an engineering cadet, but one who was completely and totally wrapped up in the girl curled up on his lap. 

He glanced down at her, and felt an odd sense of calm come over him. Jemma had been attacked, her attacker had nearly been allowed to stay on campus, and Fitz himself had narrowly escaped expulsion… yet, as long as he was with her, and Jemma was with him, everything would be okay. He just knew it, without any kind of proof or evidence to back up his assertion. It was an odd feeling for someone who was trained as a scientist, and left him fumbling for words.

“Jemma?” he whispered, soft and clear, to get her attention. “Ye know ye’re th’ mos’ importan’ person in my life, righ’? I mean, maybe after my mum, bu’ ye’re up there.” Fitz ducked to press a kiss into her hair, using the affectionate gesture to hide his growing blush. 

Jemma was enjoying the silence, the weight of Fitz’ arms around her comfortable and warm. It still amazed her sometimes that Fitz wanted her, especially after everything with Harris. Before, she’d had certain things she didn’t think were very likable about herself, but after… After, she was constantly amazed at Fitz’ patience and sensitivity with her when he was so rarely that way with anyone else, especially with something as irrational and unpredictable as her anxiety. But moments like this, when she was just Jemma and he was just Fitz and there was nothing weighing on either of them were precious and Jemma wanted to enjoy as much as she could. 

When Fitz broke the silence with his whisper, Jemma was curious at his soft tone to start with, but her heart melted at his words. Her arms snugged a little tighter around his sides and she replied without looking up at him, not wanting to disturb their little peaceful bubble by moving too much. “I know,” she whispered back, just as softly. “Same goes, you know. About being the most important person in my life, I mean.” 

She tipped her head to press a kiss to Fitz’ jaw, nuzzling against it, rough and a little scratchy at this point in the day. “I never expected when I came here that so much would happen. That I’d find a best friend or fa-” Jemma broke off her words without finishing the thought, her own cheeks pinkening. Even though Fitz had sort of suggested it, he hadn’t gone quite that far, and Jemma didn’t want to shake things. 

An incredible, iridescent happiness had been building within his chest as Jemma spoke, the warmth of her clear affection spreading from where she kissed his jaw down to his chest and out to his fingers and toes. But then, just as she’d been about to say it, to cross that last line between them, she stopped herself, looking away as a faint pink blush began to color her cheeks. 

Fitz took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do, for what he should have just done at the start. He hooked a finger beneath her chin and kissed her. He was leisurely about it, allowing them both time to explore what was quickly becoming rather familiar territory. When he finally had to pull away, his brain and lungs clamoring for oxygen, he didn’t go far, instead opting to rest his forehead against hers. The position felt intimate, their noses brushing and breath mingling, and Fitz decided it was now or never. 

“Wha’ I should have said, lass, is tha’ I’m in love wit’ ye.”

Jemma let herself sink into the kiss, still as comfortable as she’d been earlier in the dark movie theater. It was finally sinking into her subconscious that Fitz could be trusted, the nerves that had been Jemma’s constant companion the last few weeks, finally letting her fully relax around him. Fitz’ tongue swept against hers, and she let out a soft noise against his mouth before he finally drew away to let them both get air. 

He tipped his forehead against hers, and she felt him draw in a breath to speak but Jemma wasn’t expecting the words that came out. So hard on the heels of her own aborted confession, hearing Fitz say he loved her had her trembling in reaction. Her fingers clenched into his jumper where they were still buried under his arms, hazel eyes flying open to stare at him in surprise. Still, Jemma managed to choke out her response as totally unexpected tears filled her eyes. “I l-love you, too,” she murmured, clinging to him. 

Fitz’ laugh was involuntary, as involuntary as the joy he felt at hearing Jemma’s confession. It certainly hadn’t been damped by the fact that she was in tears; if anything, since he felt confident that she had been about to confess the same thing to him moments earlier, it caused him to grin at her broadly, clearly amused by the entire situation. 

“Lass, why are ye cryin’? I know I’m no’ David Tennant or anythin’ o’ th’ sor’, but I though’ hearin’ ‘I love ye’ was a good thin’.” His piece said, Fitz leaned in to kiss her once more, wanting to make it clear that he thought the world of her, and that she was what made him happiest in it. 

“Oh, shut up, Fitz,” Jemma sniffled out, ducking away from his mouth and burying her face against his shoulder. Despite having such a good day, Jemma knew she was still broken, still traumatized by Harris’ abuse and suffering from the lingering anxiety his attack had caused. She’d hoped, of course, but hadn’t really expected Fitz to feel that way about her. Down the line, once she’d healed and was something sort of like the girl he’d originally met back in September, but not now. 

Jemma wriggled her hands down behind Fitz’ body, wanting to hug him properly. Never mind that she might be clinging a bit. He couldn’t say things like that to her and not expect her to get emotional. She’d known just how lucky she was to have a friend like him to start with, and he’d already been the most important person in her life. Saying he loved her… Jemma couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard those words, even from her parents. 

Her pulling away did nothing to diminish his spirits. Instead of her lips, Fitz happily settled for pressing a kiss to her forehead, sitting up a bit so she could work her arms around him. Once Jemma seemed to have found a spot she liked, he sat back slowly, working to keep himself quiet. It was difficult, when he wanted to murmur again and again to her why, exactly, he loved her… but she had told him to shut up, and he knew better than to argue with a woman in tears. 

Instead, he rocked her a bit, settling them both further into the sofa as Fitz ran his hands over her shoulders and back in broad, soothing strokes. He would have to do something about this, he thought; he very well couldn’t have her crying on him at the drop of a hat every time he said he loved her. And he did plan on repeating it in the future, as often as Jemma would allow it. However, Fitz did realize that he was doing all he could do, and relaxed into the moment, waiting for Jemma to feel comfortable speaking again. 

"I don't know why I'm crying," she whispered eventually, sniffling back the last of the tears and shamelessly wiping them against his shoulder. "I'm happy. I am, I swear. I think it's because I don't usually hear it. Mum and Dad aren't especially... affectionate." Jemma's shoulders lifted in a faint shrug. 

At least he'd let her have her little moment. Fitz was getting better at that, letting her have silence and trusting she'd talk when she'd turned things over in her head and settled. Jemma sighed and shifted, lifting her head to meet his eyes. "If I haven't said it often enough, thank you."

He brought a hand up to her cheek and using his thumb, gently wiped away the few tears she hadn’t managed to brush off on his jumper. Her parents are fools, Fitz found himself thinking. His own mum had been rather hard on him, but she’d at least been open with her affection. He’d never had to question whether she loved him. He’d have to do his best to make sure that Jemma was able to say the same, at least when it came to how he felt about her. 

He shifted a bit, allowing him to bring his arm about her a tad more securely, and tipped his head against hers once more. “Ye dinnae have t’ say thank ye, Jemma, although i’s nice ‘ hear. But this is jus’ wha’ people do for th’ ones they love, an’ I hope ye dinnae ever have t’ question tha’, a’ leas’ no’ wit’ me.” 

Jemma shook her head slowly, “I don’t want to make you think I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done. Knowing-” Her voice cut out on her again and she had to stop and clear her throat before continuing. “Knowing you love me, too, is… overwhelming. However much I’ve wanted it, I didn’t dare to think on it too much. You’ve already given so much.” Her own parents cared, but Jemma didn’t get much attention unless it suited them at the time or if something had happened. She hadn’t known for a long time that wasn’t how it was for everyone.

She leaned into the tender touch on her cheek as Fitz settled her in against his shoulder, his chin against her forehead. As she’d been doing for weeks now, Jemma let him soothe her. It was almost instinctive now, like the familiar scent of his skin was the signal to her body and mind that she was safe and could let everything go. 

“Jemma, trus’ me,” Fitz murmured into her tresses, “I know tha’ ye appreciate me. Ye show me every time ye le’ me do this,” he squeezed his arms about her, hugging her briefly before relaxing back into his previous position. “This is all th’ thanks I need.” He swallowed, pondering how to address the next point and choosing his words carefully. “An’ when ye love someone, lass, ye dinnae worry abou’ payin’ or bein’ paid back. Ye do i’ jus’ because ye wan’ t’ help them, an’ ye hate th’ idea tha’ they have t’ do somethin’ alone.” 

He kissed the crown of her head, and murmured into her hair, “I promise, ye’ll never have t’ do somethin’ alone, no’ if ye dinnae wan’ t’, as long as ye’ll have me.” 

Jemma’s breath hitched again. “No- Not helping with the not crying thing, Fitz,” she mumbled out. Her body was shaking, a fine tremble running through her muscles as she huddled there in his lap. “I’d keep you forever if you’d let me,” she whispered. “I know it sounds terribly idealistic. We have no idea what might happen, and there’s SHIELD and Section 17 and all of that, but whatever happens, I always want you to be there. Here. With me.” 

She returned his gentle hug, arms squeezing around his body. “I wish every day could be like this one. Maybe without the couple of little hiccups, but even so. Today was wonderful, Fitz,” Jemma said quietly. “I still have one more surprise for you, too.” 

Fitz felt his heart leap in his chest at her quiet words. I’d keep you forever if you’d let me. Somehow, that was even better than hearing that Jemma loved him. Too many people relied on love as if it were some kind of magical get-out-of-jail-free card, or an easy fix to any problem when it simply wasn’t. However, the idea of wanting him around, through thick and thin, good and bad, that spoke volumes to Fitz, and he brushed gentle fingers over the bridge of her nose and down to her lips before twisting them both so he could kiss her. 

“Ye’re goin’ t’ spoil me,” he chided gently, nuzzling against Jemma’s cheek. “Tellin’ me ye love me an’ wantin’ me close.” Fitz shut his eyes, a soft sigh escaping before he managed to speak again. “Tha’s more than I could ever hope for, Jemma, an’ far more than I deserve.” 

“More than test driving fast cars or dragging you along with me to New York?” Jemma returned his gentle nuzzling, but laughed softly, her tone affectionate. The conversation had drifted far deeper into emotional territory than she’d ever expected and she wanted to bring it back up before they both got any more maudlin. “There’s fudge cake and strawberry ice cream for your birthday. Loving someone means remembering the little things that make them happy, too,” she teased. 

“Ye’ll spoil me wit’ tha’ as well,” Fitz replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he shifted Jemma off his lap so she could stand. He pushed up off the couch after her, and taking her hand up once more, pulled her close for a brief kiss. Her laughter was contagious, and Fitz couldn’t help but chuckle as he pulled away from her. Simply seeing her so happy was enough to make him feel bubbly as well. 

“C’mon,” he urged, tugging her along toward the kitchen, “le’s see abou’ gettin’ a slice o’ cake an’ some ice cream.” It certainly wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as either of them had been in a long while… and with a little bit of effort, Fitz was certain they could get there.


End file.
